Crossing paths
by stormus
Summary: Getting his father's knife reforged was meant to leave him out of pocket, not with a bounty hunter's prize slumbering in his arms with a fistful of his coat. Close to five years without unnecessary human contact, and now this? Balinor swallowed, and huffed to himself. What sort of idiot was he? What was he supposed to do with a tiny, hungry, possibly traumatised child?
1. One

**Crossing Paths**

 **Summary:** _Getting his father's knife reforged was meant to leave him out of pocket, not with a bounty hunter's prize slumbering in his arms with a fistful of his coat. Close to five years without unnecessary human contact, and now this? Balinor swallowed, and huffed to himself. What sort of idiot was he? What was he supposed to do with a tiny, hungry, possibly traumatised child?_

* * *

One

 ** _'Well, I saw you and... it could have been me in that cage.'_**

To venture into town was perhaps one of his least favourite things. While one could make a decent, solitary living off the forest, there were still the small necessities to be obtained from the relevant craftsmen. Today he needed to get the blade of his father's knife reforged. It had come to a sticky end, being the only thing to hand when attacked by a hungry wolf two nights past. It was not the initial fight that had done it in, but being flung out of his hand as he pulled it from the dead animal's chest, right into the rocky wall of the cliff behind. Not for the first time did he bemoan his lack of coordination.

He turned the old thing over in his fingers, examining the still slightly blackened blade with a satisfied eye. More a luxury than a necessity, really. Sentimental more than functional for anything beyond whittling. Without being able to whittle, he would likely go mad.

Snatching a breath he shied sideways, almost dropping it as somebody passed by a little too closely. Town always unnerved him, put him on edge. Anybody could be a threat, any one person eyeing him as they went about their business, aware of who he was, and consequently _what_ he was. A danger he would rather, and should rather avoid wherever possible.

Hunching his shoulders, Balinor quickened his pace, anxious to be away from people and back into the forests. A lonely existence his may be, but at least it was an existence. That was more than any others of his kind had. As much as he could not bring himself to be, he at least recognised that he _should_ be grateful.

The streets were not so busy as they were on market day, when he would normally visit to trade the herbs he foraged. In some ways, he felt disturbed by it. People posed a threat, but more so in sparser numbers. Having a crowd to melt into was an advantage. Few people paid attention to one face in the many.

He made his way down the main street, heading towards the forest road across the field at the far end, when his eyes met a sight that turned his blood to ice in his veins.

Standing still and thoroughly unassuming just outside the tavern, was the dark wooden cage of a bounty hunter. The sight of it even unattended left Balinor quaking lightly. Its owner was nowhere to be seen, but that did not make the thing any less sinister. Worried, he made to hurry on, held fast by something he did not expect to see.

From the hay covering the cage floor, a small shape stirred, pushing itself up onto its knees and turning to peer out between the bars. The small, pale and frightened face of a child.

Balinor looked back at the pallid little thing curiously. It was a small boy – very small – likely no more than five summers. He was a striking sight, all wide blue eyes and tangled mop of black hair. He sat huddled up against the front of the cage, staring out at the people passing by in fear and perhaps confusion.

He could have looked comical, to one not possessed of a heart: all awkward childish angles and big ears, but to one less soulless, the sight was utterly harrowing. Unsure of his actions, and certainly against his better judgement, Balinor left his intended path and started over to the cage.

At his approach the boy drew back, staring up at him fearfully. He must have been through a lot, Balinor surmised, staring back at him pityingly, to be so afraid of strangers. It was not as though he himself was particularly strange to look at – his general appearance was not untidy, or wild, though he had begun to neglect it of late and the consequent beard did him no favours in terms of a recognisable reflection. His clothing was not in bad order, and his coat remained well-tended in the leather under piece he wore in the spring warmth today. His height may be intimidating, and to one so small as this boy, a man akin to a stick insect as his tall, not overly broad frame was would probably be just as intimidating as a much heavier set man, he reasoned.

He looked back at the boy searchingly, heavy brows drawn together in sadness. The child quivered, staring back at him, though he did shift after a moment, seeing that Balinor did not act, and reached out to grip the bars.

He was so young, Balinor noted – likely right in his assessment of five summers, possibly four, looking at him again. For him to be in this cage, there could only be one reason. What had happened to his parents, Balinor wondered? If he was alone, then...

The thought saddened him deeply. The sight of the scared little boy locked up in the cage made him sick. There was only one place it could be going, and only one fate that would await the boy when it got there. The same as so many before him.

"Miserable little sod, isn't he?"

Balinor turned, almost leaping out of his skin at the sharp stench of ale drifting on the breath of the squat, large and bearded man stood beside him suddenly. He flinched, feeling cold from head to foot. Thankfully the man was too drunk to notice his reaction with any real attention. He carried on speaking instead, grinning at the shivering child almost maliciously,

"He ought to fetch a good price when I bring him in. Uther doesn't get many this small, I'd wager."

"Ho-" Balinor cleared his throat and swallowed. He indicated to the child with a nod of his head, "how old is he?"

"Four summers," the bounty hunter replied, with a slight widening of his grin. "That's what his little mother shouted anyway. 'Leave him be, he's only four summers!' Ha! A small sorcerer he may be, but a sorcerer nonetheless, and Uther will pay well for him all the same."

"He can't have magic so young," Balinor tried, "magic shows no sign until adolescence at the earliest."

The bounty hunter shook his head, and folded his large arms across his chest. "Rarely does it happen, but it _does_ happen."

Rarely indeed. Balinor squeezed his eyes shut a moment, recalling his own childhood in which magic had been a close companion to him also. Rare, but not rare enough that this man should be unaware of it. He pinched his brows, finding his eyes drawn to the terrified child once more. "Uther will have him executed," he murmured quietly, hoping against hope that the boy did not know what that meant.

The bounty hunter chuckled. "And I will have my coin."

It was all that Balinor could do not to recoil from the man. Instead, a frown on his face, he turned his head to look at the child sitting looking back at him, gripping the bars. "Do you have magic?" he asked the boy outright.

No reply. The child did not speak, though fear flashed in his eyes. Balinor tried again,

"Have you magic?"

Still the boy did not speak.

"You'll get nothing from him," the bounty hunter grunted. "You'd think him incapable or an idiot, if you hadn't heard the way he screamed for his mother."

Balinor's jaw clenched. Unconsciously he flexed the fingers of one hand, and turned to the boy once more. "Do you have magic?"

Still nothing. The child just stared up at him, his shakes increasing.

Balinor did not break his stare. He lowered his head slightly that he locked eyes with the lad.

 _'Do you have magic, boy?'_

The child snapped to attention, and glanced about in confusion as to where Balinor's voice had come from, before taking one of his hands from the bars and hesitantly pressing it to his forehead in surprise as the realisation set in. He looked up at Balinor in astonishment, his eyes slowly shuttering in thought. He seemed to be grappling with something. Then he raised his eyes to Balinor once more, and very hesitantly nodded his head.

Balinor returned the nod, surprised momentarily as he got a questioning sense from the boy, punctuated by the lad's slow blinking. Only the sense of a question it may be, but he understood what the boy asked without words, even if it should be obvious.

He answered with a nod, and clenched his fingers into a fist.

Why he did what he did next, he couldn't be sure. He turned and threw a punch straight into the bounty hunter's jaw. The man went down, not unconscious, but certainly disorientated by the impact. Balinor ignored his shout of rage, rushed to the door of the cage and hovered his palm over the lock.

"Tóspringe*."

The door clicked open. Balinor pulled it aside and held his arms out to the boy. "Here!"

The child did not move. He stared back at Balinor with wide eyes, frozen to the spot. On the ground the bounty hunter tried to roll onto his shoulder and get up. Balinor tried again, nodding his head at the boy encouragingly,

"Come on!"

The urgency in his tone seemed only to make the child more nervous. He blinked at Balinor, and looked up and around the cage, his shakes beginning again.

Balinor felt shaky himself. He'd started to sweat, the shiver of cold below his shoulder blades that of fear.

The bounty hunter was on his feet, swaying drunkenly from foot to foot as he made attempt to straighten up and turn without listing sideways. "Sorcerer!"

Balinor bit his lip and looked to the boy one last time. The poor child seemed just as afraid of him as he did the man who had captured him. He would get nothing out of the boy while he felt so, and yet-

 _'Come on, boy.'_

The little lad rocked forward onto his knees a moment, considering Balinor carefully, before launching himself forward across the cage and into his arms.

Balinor picked him up and spun away from the cage, ducking a clumsy swing by the bounty hunter as he went. He stumbled a few steps, throwing out his magic to steady himself and thwart his treacherous feet, finding himself overbalanced by the lad's extra weight and his own unsteady manner. He made a run for it.

Behind he heard the bounty hunter shout out, the jingle of chain mail as others, likely better equipped, joined the chase. He was dimly aware that some of Eldred's* men had been drinking outside the tavern that afternoon, and that in avoiding the bounty hunter's punch, had sent the man crashing headlong into the swinging door of the cage. He had thrown the first punch. He had taken the boy.

Slaving was not against the law in Essetir. Brawling and common assault were. Technically, Balinor realised in disgust, _he_ was the criminal here.

The child whimpered, able to see back over Balinor's shoulder. His little fingers twisted up in the soft leather of Balinor's coat, pulling it tight across his shoulders. They must indeed be being pursued, Balinor reasoned, hefting the child further up onto his hip.

Part of him – that sensible part, presumably working from somewhere in his head – questioned his sanity. What did he think he was doing? He could not go getting involved in these things! Doing so would draw attention to him. People would become interested in his identity, and then they would seek him out.

Eventually, Uther would come. Sooner rather than later if he interfered with the work of bounty hunters in the king's 'employ'.

Stay away. Stay quiet. Stay safe.

Those were his rules.

But the part that oft ruled him when others were involved protested vigorously. He knew in his heart that he could not stand by and do nothing. How could he walk away knowing that this tiny child would be drowned for something so totally outside of his control?

He could not. Just as he could not allow a wound to go untreated, or allow an animal to suffer. Nor would he ever.

The tavern wasn't far from the edge of town, the forest not far across the field beyond that. Once he got into the trees it would not be difficult to lose his pursuers. The boy, still as he clung, would get heavy soon. Despite the physical work of his lifestyle, Balinor knew that he was not a particularly large man. Carting weights for a prolonged period of time was not his strength. Especially not while sprinting. Plus the sharp bone of his hip must be digging into the boy's thigh, silent as his unexpected charge remained.

Even so, without armour to weigh him down, and possessed of long legs, he did not doubt that he could outrun Eldred's men. So long as they did not have-

Something whistled by, thudding into the bark of a nearby oak as they broke the tree line.

\- Crossbows. Again, not a problem. When he was alone, and could turn quickly.

He heard the release of bowstrings behind and clenched his teeth.

The boy's breath hitched with a sob of fear, and the bolts shattered mid air, pelting the surrounding undergrowth and the back of Balinor's thick hide coat with dull splinters.

The shouts of alarm behind, and the boy's hiccup of surprise encouraged Balinor to veer off the main path onto a small game trail he knew.

He had no doubt as to what had just happened - had felt the boy use magic as his own seemed to answer it in light, dancing flickers of warmth across the surface of his skin. The lad had power, and it was raw, and untamed, and emotional.

… And it had saved both of their lives.

He ducked left, adjusting his hold on the boy as he bent low, ducking between two close-growing bramble bushes that had almost intertwined over a tiny, muddy path. Once through he moved a short distance down the path until he could step off onto the springy grass at its side. He turned, hefted the boy to a more comfortable position, and surveyed the damage his passage had done to the ground.

Through the trees, he could hear Eldred's men crashing their way along the game trail in search of him. With a deep breath, he focused on the muddy path.

"Astyré se Eorðe.*"

At his behest, the soil shifted, rolling over itself to erase his tracks and repair the ground. Satisfied, he turned away and headed off into the trees, along the network of tiny trails he knew to be made by the regular passage of rabbits.

The boy stared over his shoulder, back in the direction they had come. The shouts of the rampaging Essetirian soldiers grew quieter as they raced off, following the wrong path past the overgrown bramble bushes. He was no longer interested in them, however. His eyes remained on the path, and the newly turned earth that had disguised their way. That had kept them hidden, and kept them safe...

* * *

* Tóspringe – Spring asunder

* Astyré se Eorðe – I guide the Earth

*Eldred - Cenred isn't King yet, so let's put his father on the throne, and let's call him Eldred.


	2. Two

Πέρασμα των πορειών

* * *

Two

The sounds of the forest were beautifully soothing. They were simple to read, and easily trusted. Balinor took long, careful strides through the undergrowth, mindful of the placement of his feet and of broken branches as he passed. The boy had started to become a hefty weight in his arms, though had at some point fallen asleep, his little head lolled down against his rescuer's shoulder, thumb stuck firmly in his mouth.

Balinor was quietly grateful for that. He was quite unsure how he would manage with a grizzling child in the middle of the forest. He was unsure what he was supposed to do with the boy at all. There was no plan in mind. He only knew where he was going: when in danger run somewhere safe.

With a light huff, he came to halt at the head of a steep slope leading down to a small, fast-flowing stream. Careful not to wake him, he adjusted his hold on the boy, and started slowly down the slippery rocks and mud to the pebbles below.

The sight of home was somewhat calming. Somewhere, in the back of his mind he bemoaned that he had started thinking of this isolated cave as home. Still, he couldn't deny that he felt his muscles relax, and much of the tension drain from him as he picked his way across the damp-slicked and smooth-topped rocks towards the darkened mouth of the cave.

The boy woke a little as he was deposited gently on the pile of dry ferns and blankets that constituted Balinor's bed. He raised his head and looked around, blinking sleepily only to freeze suddenly, realising that he did not recognise his surroundings. Things only seemed to get worse as his gaze alighted on Balinor where he moved about the cave lighting candles. Frightened, the boy began to shake again.

Balinor looked back at him over his shoulder, unsure. What to do now? The child didn't look to be too seriously injured, but it was difficult to tell without properly examining him. He had seen signs of abrasions briefly, and hints of bruising around the neck as he took the boy from the cage, but not had time to properly take stock of them. He had to wonder how to go about it, when the child was so clearly afraid of him? He had knowledge of treating injured children, but they had not been afraid of _him_ specifically, and that all seemed so long ago now, and so far removed from this context that he was left somewhat at a loss.

More and more of late he had withdrawn from civilisation, from the company of others. Being up here alone had begun to take its toll. There was far too much time to think. In his solitude the sadness and burden of being the last of his kind weighed more and more heavily on him with every passing day. Eventually he would collapse beneath the weight and become a complete recluse. Something that he saw happening to himself all too easily as time wore on.

Back to the boy however, as too much introspection was no good for a man. Aside from the obvious trauma that rose from being snatched in the first, and whatever wounds he had sustained in the bounty hunter's 'care', the poor little lad was covered in dried filth and hay seeds, and looked to be half-starved. Perhaps the best thing to do was tackle each problem individually? One after the other.

Ill at ease, Balinor made his way to the coolest corner of the cave and rummaged about in the supply sacks he kept below the table there.

The boy watched him warily, hugging his knees to his chest and peering over them with wide eyes.

Balinor stood and busied himself at the table filling a small clay mug with water. He turned to the boy, mug in one hand and an apple in the other.

The boy froze, noting the apple with what looked to be want, only to hunch into himself and draw away as Balinor approached. The man chose not to focus any obvious attention on it. Instead he crouched to look the lad in the eye.

"Hungry?" He offered out the apple.

The child faltered, his wide eyes dropping momentarily from Balinor's face to the apple and back again. He did not move.

Sincere, Balinor shook the apple gently, trying to make clear that it was available for taking. The little one clearly wanted it.

Very slowly, very cautiously, the child reached out a small hand, and snatched the apple only to freeze again. His eyes darted up to meet Balinor's, uncertainty and fear glittering in the candlelight. He held the apple back out a little way as though to hand it back. The man understood and shook his head lightly.

"It's yours, boy," he assured, managing a small smile.

Still unsure, the boy held the apple to his chest, looking back at Balinor in surprise. He opened his mouth to say something, only to snap it shut a moment later.

What he meant to say went unsaid, but not unheard. Balinor got a sense of gratitude from him, the child biting into the apple and chewing tentatively as he kept an eye on Balinor even as the man smiled and bobbed his head.

He watched the child eat a moment, making sure that no chewed up apple was about to reappear unexpectedly. Once satisfied that what was gone would remain so, he picked up the mug and offered it out to the lad. "Here. Drink this."

The boy did as he was told, apparently afraid of disobeying. Balinor sat quietly and waited while the boy looked back at him over the rim of his mug. Apparently the lad was thirsty as well as hungry. That was unsurprising.

Once he'd drunk his fill, he lowered the cup and looked around for a place to put it, apparently not wanting to trouble Balinor. Not something to be concerned about, as Balinor took it gently and set it on the ground beside his knee.

He held out his hand to the boy. "Give me your arm."

A look of fear crossed the lad's face, his blue eyes wide with terror. He did as he was told, however, the fear of retribution likely greater than anything he thought may be done with his arm.

Balinor took it in gentle hands, turning it over carefully and rolling up the boy's oversized sleeve that he could examine the bony wrist underneath. He winced at the sight.

Raw skin banded the wrist, rough fibres stuck to the wound in places. "He tie you up?" Balinor asked bluntly, not mindful of his tone as he got up to retrieve the bucket of water from the table.

The boy nodded hesitantly, and bit into his apple again though he still watched Balinor's every move.

"Hm." Balinor returned to sit cross-legged on the ground in front of the boy with the bucket and a cloth, and held out his hand for his charge's arm. It was given with less hesitation this time.

It was a laborious process, but Balinor washed the child's wound thoroughly, ensuring all dirt and foreign bodies were removed. The lad whimpered at the first few strokes of the cloth, likely due to the stinging. Balinor's murmured reassurances served to quieten him, and once he had finished cleaning and patting dry the first wrist, the second and its matching wound were offered without being asked for. All the time the boy's eyes never left Balinor, the man's every move observed and analysed closely. Balinor did not mind, though he wished the boy would hurry up and eat the rest of the apple before the flesh began to dry.

Wrists treated, Balinor knelt up and reached out to remove the boy's neckerchief and examine the extent of the bruising.

The reaction was almost violent. The lad gasped and jerked backwards from Balinor's hands, his own flying to grip the cloth at his neck in little iron fingers. He shook his head, tears beginning in his wide eyes.

Balinor paused, surprised by such a strong reaction, but gently made to reach for the neckerchief once more.

The boy shook his head again and leant away, though he did not move from where he sat.

Balinor considered him thoughtfully, and took very slow, deliberate movements to reach for the neckerchief again. "Come on, boy," he murmured, his quiet, level tone giving the child pause, "you're hurt. I need to see so that I can make it better." His fingertips hooked around the edge of the cloth, "this needs to come off."

The boy whimpered and shook his head again. He pulled the neckerchief tight, preventing Balinor from getting a sound purchase on it.

Balinor frowned, the expression wrenching a sob from the boy. As far as he could, Balinor banished it, mindful of upsetting him further. The last thing he needed was a hysterical child on his hands. "If you be good and let me look at your wounds, you can have another apple," he tried, attempting to get a better grip on the cloth and encourage the child to let go. To no avail. The lad just shook his head harder, and pulled away that Balinor lost his grip altogether.

Defeated, the man sat back on his heels and looked at the boy thoughtfully. There had been no issue with the angrier of the wounds, so what was different about his neck? Did something worse lie under the neckerchief? The thought made Balinor's blood boil with rage. What man would harm a child so? If that bounty hunter should cross his path again, a solid punch to the jaw would be the least of the man's worries... Thinking about that punch made his scraped and bruised knuckles throb. Funny how he hadn't noticed the pain just after delivering it.

With a light frown, he drew his attention away from his own small injury and watched the boy fidget where he sat. Still there was no move made to get away, remaining where he had been put for fear of disobeying Balinor, but the neckerchief was clearly off limits. In fact, the way that the child sat there feverishly twining his fingers in the coarse material as though to strangle himself told a new story. One that Balinor thought perhaps he understood.

"Is it special?"

The boy looked at him sharply, tears rolling over his cheeks though he did not sob.

Balinor indicated to the neckerchief with a nod and repeated himself. "Is it special, boy?"

Hesitant, the child nodded, the movement becoming more forceful the longer he kept it going. Balinor returned the nod, and knelt up to carefully reach for the neckerchief once more. "Tell you what," gently, he managed to take a hold of the cloth, "I'll undo it, so that I can have a look at your wound, but you hold onto it while I do." He slipped his fingers around to the back of the lad's neck, and began slowly unfolding the cloth in search of a knot. "I won't take it from you," he assured the quietening child in a low, placating tone. "You keep it. How does that sound?"

Hesitant, the boy considered it. After a moment, he reluctantly released his grip on the neckerchief, though did not let go of it completely. The slack was enough that Balinor could continue unfolding it, finding that there was no knot but it was simply rolled up.

It came loose, falling from the lad's neck into his hands. The little one looked at it lovingly and placed it reverently in his lap, twisting his hands in the frayed cloth until they were completely wadded up in it. Balinor let him keep it, as he promised, and engaged in an examination of the boy's neck.

It was certainly bruised as he had suspected, but not by ropes. Clearly marked was the shape of a hand, and fingertips.

He drew a sharp breath through his nose and pressed his lips together against the urge to snarl. There did not appear to be any further damage, but it was no wonder the boy did not want to speak. There was no need to have treated the tiny lad so.

Ever so gently, so as not to alarm the boy, Balinor wrapped his own hand around his neck, over the bruises, and closed his eyes. He felt the lad freeze and begin to tremble, but forced himself to pay no mind. He needed to concentrate.

"Þurhhæle lyre*."

The warm tingle of magic made the child shiver, but did not panic him. When Balinor drew his hand away, the boy wrapped both of his own to his neck, leaving his neckerchief in a heap in his lap in his haste. He looked up at Balinor in surprise. The man managed a small smile, and got to his feet, taking the bucket and mug with him.

He left the boy be a moment to put them away and tidy up a little, cautious not to make any sudden movements.

He had to consider now what to do next. It was getting late, the light from the cave entrance dimming steadily. Eldred's men may still be searching for him, they may not. He did not want to take the chance. At some point he would have to find dinner for himself and the boy. A single apple was not nearly enough. As he had thought before, the child looked half-starved, and was clearly hungry. Not to mention the filth, reeking of fear sweat and a distinct tang of lant. He needed bathing and his clothing washing. Once he was clean, his wrists would need to be treated properly. That meant mixing up a paste.

Then he himself needed to change and probably have a wash and a shave. Maybe tie his hair back if it would go. Changing his appearance as much as he could would throw off any who were searching for a scruffy hermit. If he was going to travel, then it would be wise to shake off that mantle in appearance at least. There was no question of the boy staying with him. Some arrangement would have to be found for him elsewhere.

Speaking of arrangements, sleeping needed to be organised. The boy would take his bed, of course. The lad was clearly in need of a comfortable night's sleep, as comfortable as his bed could be called. He could throw something together for himself. He was a Dragonlord, after all. It was more than just a voice that he shared with the great beasts...

Beast...

There were some ferns and soft grasses outside that were close enough to the cave mouth that they should be safe enough to gather without too much fear of being seen.

On top of that he needed to get the boy talking. He needed to find out where the child was from if possible. Returning him to his parents was better than leaving him in the care of the first benevolent stranger he came across. What if the place was far away? Would they have to cross borders to get there? That would more than likely mean dodging patrols. Would he be able to do that with a child in tow?

Then of course there was the bounty hunter to consider. They were not known for giving up easily. Would the man just go back to the boy's village and capture him again? Would it be worth his while, if it was far away? Likely not. As much as travelling did not appeal to Balinor either, perhaps he ought to hope that it _was_ the case. If not, then the best he could do would to be advise the boy's parents to find a new village.

He heaved a sigh, and rubbed tiredly at his eyes with the fingertips of one hand. Irritated with himself, he tipped his head back to stare at the ceiling above. Why put himself in this situation in the first? Why do it, even if it was the right thing?

The boy was watching him. He could feel eyes on his back as he stood immobile. Resigned, knowing that he had to help the boy, Balinor turned his attentions to rooting through his supplies in search of something to put together for dinner.

* * *

That the lad was intrigued by him was in itself intriguing. That he was afraid of him was undeniable. Balinor thought on it as he sat by the stew pot, slicing carrots into the bubbling broth inside, all the while aware that his miniature charge was watching him closely.

The boy shifted in the folds of the heavy blanket, quietly appreciative of its warmth after Balinor had dumped it on his head in passing. He appeared to be treating it like a shield, Balinor thought, surreptitiously watching the boy in return as he worked. Having something to hide in, even if 'hide' did not truly apply in this instance, seemed to enhance the child's sense of comfort and safety.

Balinor understood, equating it to his own ideas about blankets gained from his childhood years spent at play building forts in his father's home, and throwing them over his head to hide from the world. Even now he habitually wrapped himself up in one when he settled to read.

The boy had still not spoken. He continued to sit twining his fingers around the neckerchief in his lap, Balinor supposed. The whole process of cooking had up until now distracted the little lad, his sharp eyes following Balinor's hands as he first prepared the salted rabbit meat for the pot, and then the vegetables. His brows had pinched a little when wild garlic was added to the mix, but that was likely more through surprise at its use than a dislike for it.

Or it could have been the particularly pungent odour...

While he worked, Balinor tried to keep up a good-humoured smile, hoping to put the boy at ease, even if it had some time ago started his cheeks twitching. He had allowed himself to prattle a while also, though he had gleaned no information from the boy as to where he was from, or on anything for that matter. The child just sat, and stared, and fidgeted when paid attention to.

Once the last of the carrots was sliced up and in the pot, Balinor got to his feet and approached the boy with a careful manner. He smiled a little as the lad drew into the blanket completely, but tried not to chuckle as he crouched down to meet the wide blue eyes.

"You need to wash before dinner," he told his small guest with an amused smile, aware that the two eyes peeping out at him looked more than a little silly. He did not expect the boy to answer, so went on, "there's a shallow pool towards the wall there. It's not big, but you should fit it fine, being wee."

The boy blinked at that, clearly not acquainted with Balinor's dialectal differences. The man did not notice. "Can you do it yourself?" he queried, not sure how the boy would take to being bathed. To his relief, the lad nodded. He also looked reluctant to move, glancing to the pool, to the stew pot, and hunched deeper into his blankets.

Stern, but also quietly glad to see a spark of defiance, Balinor shook his head. "Bath before dinner, boy. I'll only have clean hands using my spoons."

Surprised at the tone of voice, the boy hesitated, then slowly emerged from his blanket cocoon, a mucky, messy-haired moth, and got to his feet. He did not move any further, but looked up at Balinor, gnawing on one dirty fingernail.

The man looked down at him, not sure what the matter was. He bade the boy follow him, and led the way to the little pool. Little being the objective term. It would fit the boy well enough as Balinor thought, but was no good for anything else. Really and truly he paid little attention to it beyond its presence as an obstacle to be avoided in the dark. He gestured to it with a wave of his hand. "There you go."

The boy looked up at him a moment, before creeping forward to dip his fingers into the still water. The cold of it made him shiver.

Balinor frowned, at himself and his own thoughtlessness, and bent down to hold a hand over the pool.

"Beðe sé wæter.*"

In the cool of the cave, gentle steam began to rise from the pool. Balinor dipped a hand in to test the temperature, finding it warm, but nowhere near as hot as he would like it. He glanced at the boy. "How's that for you?"

Tentative, the lad tested the water with his fingertips, a wide and toothy grin spreading over his little face to find it warm. A grin that disappeared when he looked up to see Balinor looking back at him patiently. Solemn, he nodded his head.

Balinor returned it, satisfied, and turned to leave.

He paused a few steps away, halted by a tugging on the hem of his tunic.

The boy released his hold and looked up at him, apparently uncertain that he had taken the correct course of action.

"What is it?" Balinor prompted him as gently as he could make the words.

In answer the boy tugged at his own belt. Balinor tilted his head, amused. "I thought you could do that yourself?"

The boy shook his head almost guiltily, looking afraid that he had done something he shouldn't have and made Balinor angry. Not so, as Balinor crouched beside him with a shake of his head, and started on the knot and buckle of the small belt around the boy's tunic.

To be fair, the knot was quite tight. Once it was undone, the lad nodded his thanks and made his way over to the pool, shucking his tunic and casting it in a heap on the floor as he went.

It wasn't long before he was settled in the pool, splashing water up his arms and chest in what could only be described as a baby manner. It was rather adorable. Though he treated his wrists gingerly...

Balinor bundled up the boy's clothes and put them aside that he could wash them later. He sincerely doubted that he would be able to get all the stains out, but any state of cleanliness would be better than that they were currently in. The only thing he did not move was the neckerchief. That remained near the pool where the boy could see it. Task done, he made for the table and began rummaging in the sacks underneath for the herbs he would need to mix up a medicinal paste.

Thoughts of the boy's injuries raised his hackles, but he bade himself be calm. Snarling would do no good now. The damage had been done. His priority was to treat it. He forced himself to be glad that the wounds were not worse.

Grinding herbs was therapeutic. It reminded him of better times, and good people. He paused to add a dash of water to the mortar. The paste would ward off infection and help the raw skin heal faster. It was one of the easier remedies to make, but also one of the most effective. Even if the smell was not particularly pleasant.

Once it was finished, he made a quick check of the stew to ensure it was not burning to a cinder in his absence, and fished a bar of soap from the stash of freshly made ones in the pan under the table, and a rag from the basket beside it. The boy was making a valiant effort to bathe himself, but was wholly ineffective in practice. His idea of being able to do it himself had grounds only in his imagination and not in reality, bless his heart.

He ceased his splashing to look up at Balinor's approach, though any worry he may have felt faded at the sight of the soap in the man's hand. Balinor knelt down beside the pool and wet the soap. "Alright, boy. Let's have a go at your hair."

It didn't take long to wash the muck out, leaving it cleaner and happier-looking, should hair be at all capable of such a thing. Balinor was pleased with the results as he rinsed the last of the soap out of it. The rest of him was as clean as he was going to get after the lad found washing easier with a rag to hand. Balinor fetched two of his spare tunics – one to dry the boy with, the other to put on him until his own clothes were cleaned and dried.

As much as he looked to have been having fun in the water, the little one did seem pleased to get out. No boy liked to be bathed, Balinor found himself thinking, again remembering himself at a young age. There was no objection to being dried, the child even lifting his arms without being asked.

Hehad to chuckle, when he dropped his dry tunic over the boy's head and utterly swamped him. The hem fell down well below his knees and there was no sign of his hands. The little lad looked down at himself in uncertainty, lifting his eyes to meet Balinor's and a hand to rub at his cheek through the fabric of one very over-large sleeve.

Balinor responded with a smile, and laced the front tighter that the neck would not fall down over the boy's shoulders, and rolled the sleeves up to his elbows. He sat back on his feet and looked at the lad thoughtfully. While far from ideal, it would do well enough as a temporary measure. It kept him sufficiently covered up and warm being of such a heavy weave. It would do fine for the moment.

Lastly, before Balinor could get up, the boy picked up his neckerchief and made to put it on. The Dragonlord took it, much to the boy's consternation, and carefully tied it around his neck.

He stood and glanced down at the boy, frowning lightly to see the way he felt the knot at the back of his neck as though disappointed. Balinor chose not to mention it, but went to fetch the mortar and bandages from the table.

By the time he turned with them in hand, the boy had run back across the cave to his blanket and the end of Balinor's bed, and sat down wrapped and cuddled up, watching him. Despite that, he made no objections to having his wrists treated and bandaged, offering out his arms willingly and watching Balinor's ministrations as though he knew exactly what was being done and why.

* * *

That he was hungry was very apparent. As was the fact that the lad had never tasted food with so much flavour before. It could be quiet a shock, Balinor acknowledged, twirling his spoon thoughtlessly in his own stew. The boy was trying to work out how the garlic made his dinner taste better, and trying to take in the idea that food could have more than one or two strong flavours at a time. The woods offered a wide range of herbs, and boredom plenty of opportunity to find the most complimentary combinations.

Having all but finished his own stew, Balinor set the last little bit aside as he did not fancy it. He kept his spoon in his hands, scratching his thumbnail over the back absently. The boy continued to eat, clearly enjoying the chance to have real food. What the bounty hunter had been giving him, if anything, Balinor really did not want to know. Perhaps it would have been an idea to give him something a little less shocking to his belly?

He watched his guest a moment, gauging the lad's state of mind. Though his attention was focused mainly on the contents of his bowl, there remained an alertness and a tension through his thin shoulders as he hunched over his food protectively. Likely afraid it would be taken. Some of his fear seemed to have ebbed, that worried expression he had hitherto worn having more or less receded in the face of a warm blanket and a good meal. Balinor twirled his spoon back and forth between his fingers, judging the boy to be as relaxed as he was going to get before sleep, and leant forward that he may prop his elbows atop his knees and engage the child's attention.

"What's your name, boy?"

A judgement that was premature.

The child's froze. His spoon slipped from his hand. With a jerk his head snapped down to watch it fall, eyes flashing that it halted mid air. The sharp intake of breath through his nose was audible. Frightened, he looked at Balinor, his shoulders beginning to quake.

Across the fire, the Dragonlord sat still twirling his own spoon. He said nothing at all, merely shifted his gaze from his charge to the spoon.

Nervous, the boy watched in awe as the man's dark eyes momentarily glowed the gold of magic, and the spoon rose from where it floated, turning slowly that it faced the correct way for using and hovered in front of the boy's face.

At the look of surprise, Balinor still said nothing. He watched the boy tentatively reach out and take it, closing it safely in his little hand and pulling it from the air to hold at his chest. Without so much an acknowledgement of either of their magic, Balinor got to his feet from the rock on which he sat, and took up the boy's dirty clothes.

He tucked them under one arm and threw a glance at the child to ensure that he was well. Seeing as he was sitting there eating his stew with enthusiasm once again, he likely was. He was clearly warm enough wrapped up in his blanket.

"You alright where you are for now?" Balinor asked him, wanting to make certain.

The boy looked up at him, chewing a mouthful of stew and nodded, still looking slightly confused.

Balinor returned the nod. "Stay put. Don't go wandering off. S'not safe back there," he indicated towards the passage leading away further into the cave, "it's dark, got a river and there're-" he could not suppress a shudder "-spiders. Lots of them." He took a moment, and cleared his throat, aware that the boy was looking at him wide-eyed. "And a very deep pool*. Very dangerous. Stay round here. I'll be back in a little while. Alright?"

The boy nodded, looking a little disturbed by the array of horrors waiting in the dark. Balinor offered him a warm, reassuring (he hoped) smile and headed to the mouth of the cave.

* * *

*Þurhhæle lyre - Heal thoroughly the damage.

*Beðe sé wæter - Warm the water

*The Resurgence pool at the back of Porth yr Ogof. Eleven people have died there since 1957, ten of which were drownings in the Resurgence pool while diving it to get out after making their way through the cave.

You can see the full sized-version of the cover image if you copy-paste the link in my profile, along with an alternate one.


	3. Three

Πέρασμα των πορειών

* * *

Three

The moon had risen, casting a silver glow over the small valley. Balinor was careful to look around before he ventured from the shadows. There did not look to be anybody about. He threw out his magic, unable to sense anything but wildlife brushing about in the flora. As it had so many times in the past, the cave appeared to have fulfilled its purpose and kept him hidden and safe from harm. Convinced that he was truly alone, he ventured out into the night and to the edge of the stream.

It was some time into scrubbing the boy's tunic that his mind began to wander from his task. Why did the boy react so strongly when asked his name? It was more than that. He seemed afraid to use his magic. The worry and guilt on his face just after halting his spoon from dropping were clear illustrations. As though he was afraid to use it, and aware that he should not.

Perhaps he had been taught not to use it? He had power, that was sure. It made Balinor's neck hair stand on end when he used it. He scowled at a particularly stubborn stain.

It felt somehow familiar, the magic. As though he had encountered it before. That could not be possible, of course. He had surely never met the lad before, nor had he encountered anyone with magic the last years he had been living up here. He went out of his way to avoid encountering anyone.

Strange.

He shook his head. The whole thing was a strange phenomenon, that he had so shunned human contact and consigned himself to such a solitary existence, and yet somehow still ended up with this boy. At least it had proven that he had not lost sight of his sense of justice, and understanding of right and wrong. The thought that he should stand by and let a person suffer when he had the power to stop it left him feeling cold. He never had been one to stand by and do nothing.

Uther had been that way too, once.

His hands stilled in their scrubbing, his eyes shifting out of focus on the fast-flowing stream. His mind really was wandering, dredging up _that_ name.

There had been a time, not so long ago, that Camelot's tyrant King would not have dreamed of hurting a child; when the Kingdom had been safe for all peoples, and her King took counsel from Lords, Knights, sorcerers and women. When Camelot had a sorceress to her court, and a dragon and his Lord at her disposal, and when children like the boy sitting inside the cave could have run to Uther for protection. Now that same King would see that child drowned. Killed for a skill he'd no choice in, and that Uther knew very well could not be helped.

Balinor swallowed and set his jaw, and returned to scrubbing the tunic with renewed ferocity.

It did no good to think of those days, when he had been a Lord, and Camelot his home. The Camelot he knew was no more. Magic was no longer welcomed there, his dragon was consigned to the darkness below the Earth, never to see the light again and he was the last of his kind, hiding from the world and the bounty upon his head. Uther Pendragon was become a betrayer and a monster. To dwell on the past only brought heartache from something that could not be changed and reopened a wound that would not heal.

He spat into the stream and took up a stone to better scrub at the cloth. To look to the future gave no comfort either. What was there beyond this? All of his kin were lost or imprisoned by his own naivety. What future was there for a man like him, hunted like an animal by the very King he once swore to serve?

He rinsed the soap from the tunic in the cold water and laid it to one side that he could begin on the trousers.

He was becoming sunk in bitterness, he well knew. There was little changing that. In truth, he was beginning to no longer care. What was the point? It was not that he had given up on life when those he cared about had turned on him, either by their own twisted shirking of blame, or to save their own skins. He had tried to rebuild his life after escaping Camelot, and what had happened then? Uther had come and destroyed it a second time. Why could he not have been left alone? What harm was he doing to anyone? And what, beyond nothing, was a Dragonlord without dragons?

Quietly, he wanted to laugh, but could not. Here he was, not far past thirty and at the height of his physical and magical power. A man in the prime of his life and a sorcerer at the peak of his ability, and there was nothing for him to do with it. Perhaps he had yet to fully grow into himself, but he had always know that he would bloom late. Hunith had used to tease him over it.

A shy smile curved his lips. She had used to tease him over a lot of things. His inability to split logs with the first strike. The way in which he would fall over if ever he tried to sweep her up in his arms. His lack of proficiency in catching chickens. All things that, despite her teasing, she insisted that she loved about him just as much as his finer qualities, whatever they were.

How he missed her.

Even now that their separation had begun to span years, he could close his eyes and see her face almost as clearly as the day he left. Thoughts of her were his only comfort on the longer, colder nights. The memory of her smile. The sound of her laugh. The warmth of her in his arms. The timbre of her voice as she spoke words meant only for him. His comfort and his curse.

A shiver crawled its way down his spine, irritating him greatly. He had thought before about returning to Ealdor, but could not bring himself to. His presence would place Hunith in danger and besides that she would be married by now, with several children. There had been men enough interested in her. That she wasn't a maid wouldn't matter much. Things like that were of little consequence to the peasantry, just as marriage without potential for alliance carried little weight beyond sentimentality.

He should have liked to have married Hunith. Dearly so. It was not to be. Uther's knights had come and he had been forced to flee. Now here he was.

The thought of her with another was unbearable. Like the dragons who were their kin, his people mated for life, and unlike the men who did not claim that kinship, there would be no moving on. Like geese, if a dragon or Dragonlord lost a mate then they would remain alone and mourn the loss for the rest of their days.

Which was exactly what he was doing now, he realised.

Angry at himself, he rinsed out the boy's trousers and slapped them down on the rock beside the tunic. Without further thought he stood and stripped, violently threw his own clothes down on the smooth rocks and stepped into the stream to immerse himself up to his chest.

The water was cold, but not freezing. He let the chill steal away all angry thoughts and concentrated on washing himself.

Aside from the many other problems currently weighing down on him, there was of course the matter of the boy. He had to get the lad home somehow, and without a willingness to talk, he hit a stumbling block before even beginning. Balinor liked to think that maybe the lad trusted him a little. He had not tried to run away, or shown terrible discomfort with the care he had received and yet Balinor still saw worry directed at himself. He had noticed that the boy was reluctant to look him in the face. He would avoid it wherever he could. That was puzzling.

Rinsing out his hair, Balinor ruminated on it, but could not find a credible reason beyond fear. That unsettled him somewhat. In the end, as he climbed out of the stream and snatched up his tunic to dry himself he decided that it was most probably without real reason. The boy had been through traumatic experiences that had in themselves likely caused his speechlessness. Such a thing was far from unheard of.

… And yet he had a few times opened his mouth as though to speak, only to snap it shut and keep silent as a second thought.

Shaking his head, Balinor pulled his trousers on, bent to pick up his coat and the boy's clothes, and headed back inside the cave.

* * *

The boy had finished his stew sometime ago. He had put his bowl on the ground beside Balinor's and laid himself down where he had been sitting on the end of the bed, and drifted off to sleep. Balinor glanced at him and set his coat and washing down on a rock. He made his way over to the boy, and leant down to gather the sleeping child into his arms and pick him up.

Poor little mite must be tired. He did not so much as stir while he was lifted and laid down properly that his head could rest on the pillow. Balinor rearranged his arms and legs that he would be comfortable, and drew the blanket up over him, tucking him in. The child did stir in his sleep then, shrugging the blanket up to his oversized ear, smacked his lips and breathed a soft sigh.

Balinor smiled at him and headed to the table to prepare a bowl of water, his razor and the shard of mirror he kept.

As he shaved, he thought on what he would do towards getting the boy home. Telling him directly what his intentions were may help him towards giving up some useful information. Doubtless he would want to see his mother again. What child did not?

He made a stroke of his cheek, and swished the razor about in the water. It would do no harm to remain around the cave another day. Eldred's men would probably have given up looking for them by then, and the lad could do with building up his strength some more before they began their journey. It would help him immensely to get some more good food down him, and some proper rest. Give him some energy.

Done, he splashed water on his face and dried off to search for his nightshirt, clear away the bowls and get to gathering ferns for bedding.

* * *

Exactly what time of night it was, he did not know. The candles had burned down and many gone out, but a small amount of light remained. Enough to help him realise that the hands shaking his shoulder belonged to the boy.

Balinor made to tun onto his back and blinked sluggishly up at the curious little face staring back at him. "What is it, boy? Scared of the dark?"

The boy shook his head. He sat back on his feet, staring thoughtfully at Balinor while the man yawned.

Balinor huffed and ran a hand back through his tousled hair, taking the opportunity to stretch. "Then what? You need to go pee?"

Again the boy shook his head.

Balinor propped himself up on his elbows. "Do you want water?"

Enthusiastically the boy nodded. He watched Balinor stretch and fidget a moment, before pointing to the makeshift bed the Dragonlord had made for himself.

"Nest."

Balinor looked at him sharply, fully awake suddenly as he snapped to attention. The boy looked back at him, still pointing to the bed of ferns with an expectant expression on his face. He may be silent now, but that high-pitched, childish little voice had definitely been his. The boy had spoken.

Utterly taken by surprise, Balinor looked down at his bed where the boy was still pointing, and nodded his head. "Yes. I suppose it is."

Really and truly that was exactly what it was, but it felt strange to admit it.

"Like a bird." The boy was looking right back at him now, smiling, as though he had never been afraid of him.

Again, Balinor nodded. "Yes. Like a bird." He pushed himself to get up, still blinking in astonishment, and went to fill the mug the boy had used the previous night with water.

When he turned around, holding the mug gingerly as his sleepy mind tried to focus, it was to find the boy sitting in the middle of his 'nest', looking at it with that same thoughtful expression. He looked up at Balinor, aware that the man was watching him, and blinked his big blue eyes. "Egg."

"Egg?"

The boy nodded. "In a nest. Egg."

Balinor's lips twitched. He started back to the boy, taking a seat on the end of his usual bed that he sat facing his charge where the little one had usurped his makeshift arrangement. "S'that what you are then? An egg?" He handed the mug to the boy, watching him drink deeply.

When he was done, the boy nodded, "in a nest."

"What about when you hatch, egg?"

The boy looked up at Balinor, amused. "A bird!"

"Mmhm." The man couldn't help but smile, the mirth on the lad's face nothing but endearing. "A robin?"

The boy giggled, wrinkled his nose and shook his head. "No! I'm Merlin!"

"A bird of prey, then?" In all honesty Balinor had not got the child pinned as a raptor. Maybe a blue tit, or a jackdaw, or considering the literal situation before him at present, a cuckoo, but not a falcon by any stretch of the imagination. Yet... he paused, thoughtful. The boy had not said _a_ merlin.

"Merlin?"

The boy grinned, and nodded.

Balinor rested his elbows on his knees and fixed the boy with a serious but far from unkind look. It was a wild stab in the dark, but "is that your name, boy?"

The lad nodded. "My name is Merlin," he said again, a small quiver to his voice, as though unsure that he should have told.

Balinor smiled, relieved to finally have something – to have made _some_ progress. He held out his hand, "I'm Balinor."

Merlin looked at his offered hand in astonishment, surprised by the offer of an adult greeting and bounced excitedly where he sat. He reached out and took hold of Balinor's wrist, as men did when greeting one another, as much as his little hand would allow, and smiled toothily when Balinor took his tiny wrist gently in return. "Balinor."

The Dragonlord raised his eyebrows and nodded. "Nice to make your acquaintance, Merlin."

He released Merlin's arm and watched him bounce again briefly. Funny, but the lad seemed completely different this morning. All of the mistrust looked to have fled. Now he just seemed... well... like a child. One who wanted to play if the bouncing was anything to go by. Perhaps it was the effects of a good, uninterrupted sleep? He got the impression that Merlin could be quite a handful when full of energy and well rested.

He ran his hands back through his hair and scratched idly at his chest. Despite the manner of his own waking, he felt well rested himself. Thoughtful, he got to his feet and crossed to the cave entrance, aware of Merlin bounding out of the ferns and trailing at his heels like a little puppy dog.

The sun had risen over the valley, though its rays were not yet strong. He took up a lean against the rocky wall, gazing out over the sparkling stream and lingering mist absently. It was going to be a beautiful day.

With a yawn, Balinor looked down at the boy, aware of his little fingers twined in the fabric of his trousers at his thigh, where Merlin had taken up residence hiding behind his leg. "Breakfast?"

Merlin looked up at him, a wide smile breaking over his lips. He nodded enthusiastically and let go to run, or perhaps toddle, as his gait seemed a clumsy halfway between the two, back into the cave.

Chuckling quietly to himself, Balinor turned from his lean and followed.

* * *

The lad had an appetite, Balinor had to give him that. The meals he gave Merlin were smaller than they ought to be, and carefully measured, but he could see that the lad would happily eat more should it be provided. Not knowing how long he had been in the bounty hunter's care, or how much he had been fed called for caution. It was better to give the lad a chance to build himself back up. Giving him too much too soon could do more harm than good. Still, Merlin wolfed down his porridge with gusto, and looked disappointed that there was no more.

He bounced to himself where he sat on the end of Balinor's bed, left to amuse himself while Balinor changed into a fresh set of clothes and ran a comb through his hair to tie it up. Merlin asked that he do the same for him, though there was no question of tying his short, fluffy curls up. That had been a while ago. Now Balinor sat in the long, springy grass, watching Merlin race about the meadow, shrieking to his heart's content.

The Dragonlord tilted his head back, enjoying the feel of the sun on his face, and the gentle fingers of the breeze carding through his hair. Many times he had sat out in this meadow, happy to do nothing and enjoy the day as far as he could. Normally he had this hidden place all to himself, and finding it had given rise to the idea that perhaps he had found the cave through more than just a fluke.

Running for his life in the middle of a rainstorm, rolling down a muddy, rocky slope after losing his footing only to look up and find a cave in which to take shelter had seemed a simple stroke of luck at first. Finding this place on the other side of the tunnel network only confirmed that he had been drawn to it. The enclosed hills, and this meadow and woods nestled at the heart of a hidden valley unknown by anyone else must have called to him on some level. In the middle distance stood a tower, and inside slumbered the last remaining dragon's egg.

There was always something soothing about the view. Merlin did not enjoy it on the same level, though he had enjoyed playing in the waterfall that led from the cave to it. He was more interested in pulling up the long grasses and stripping them of their seeds to cast into the wind. He was full of energy. A good night's sleep really must have done him good as the change in him was astronomical.

Puzzled by it, Balinor leant forward that his hands may dangle between his drawn up knees to watch Merlin's games. Stripping grass seemed to lose its appeal quite quickly, as Merlin took instead to rolling around in it, making use of the small slope with a raucous giggle and the declaration that he was a sausage. Going towards wearing himself out, presumably.

At some point he would have to rebind Merlin's wounds, Balinor considered. Clean them up, bandage them again, then put him down for a sleep. He still knew nothing about Merlin's village. Asking him directly had yielded no results. Noisy as he was, Merlin did not say anything that may 'incriminate' him. He would not say anything at all about his magic either. It would seem that he had indeed been brought up to keep quiet about it.

Done rolling about, Merlin sat up and began running his hands through the long, soft grass. The excitement drained from him that he no longer looked happy. He looked as though about to cry.

Balinor frowned, raising his head that he could see the boy properly, and called out to him softly.

"Merlin."

The little boy looked up, hesitant a moment, but got to his feet and made his way over to Balinor to flump down on his bottom in the grass, looking up at him.

Balinor forced what he hoped was a reassuring smile, and met Merlin's gaze. "Sad?"

Silent, Merlin nodded. Balinor paused, assessing him carefully before continuing. "What's the matter?"

No answer.

Unsure, Balinor went for what he thought the most likely reason. "You want your mother?"

Merlin nodded, and drew his legs up that he could hide his face in his knees. Exhaling gustily, Balinor shook his head. "I want to help you, boy, but I can't if you don't help me first."

Merlin lifted his head, looking back at him with teary eyes.

Balinor pressed on. "Where is your village? Where did the bounty hunter take you from?"

Merlin shook his head and hid his face again.

Balinor huffed. "Merlin. I can't take you back if I don't know where to take you."

Merlin did not say anything still, continuing to shake his head.

Balinor did not know what to do. At a loss, he closed his eyes and tipped his head back again. After a moment, he blinked, and looked out across the valley. A brief, small smile touched him. He nudged Merlin's shoulder gently, and nodded towards the tower in the middle distance. Where was the harm?

"D'you know what's in there?"

Merlin looked at the tower and shook his head.

Balinor smiled. "A dragon's egg."

Merlin's eyes went wide at the mention of dragons. He shifted about in the grass that he faced Balinor fully, giving him his full attention.

Glad to have taken his mind of his sadness, Balinor went on, "It was put there to keep it safe. A man named Ashkanar built the tower to one day be his tomb, and gathered together his greatest treasures and placed them within. Among them was the egg, and it has been waiting there for fours hundred years. Safe and sound. Not many know of this place, and even fewer know how to get inside..."

Merlin listened with rapt attention to the tales of puzzles and special keys. Balinor was glad to tell them, losing himself in recounting the tale he had himself been told as a child. So much so that he did not notice that Merlin had fallen asleep until he reached the end of his story.


	4. Four

Πέρασμα των πορειών

* * *

Four

When he woke, Merlin did so with a big yawn. He sat up and rubbed at his bleary eyes, blinking away the haze to glance about and gauge his surroundings. His clothes lay folded in a pile on his bed beside him, clean and dry. On a rock across the cave, Balinor sat engaged in scraping at a piece of wood with a knife. At Merlin's stirring, he looked up.

"Awake?" He queried lightly.

Merlin nodded and yawned again, drawing his blanket up about his shoulders. He got to his feet and padded over to take Balinor's hand and pull it away from the wood block to see what he was doing.

He examined the carved wood closely, running a fingertip over the roughly-formed head of the pony taking shape from it.

"Mine," he announced, looking up at Balinor with a serious expression.

The man tried to swallow his smile, but was largely unsuccessful. "If you want. I'll have to finish it first."

"No," Merlin shook his head. "Mine."

He was trying to say something, but Balinor could not work out what. He frowned, wishing that he could understand better, and returned to carving only to look up a few strokes later, "thirsty?"

Merlin nodded and padded over to the table on bare feet, reaching for the mug there with grasping fingers.

Balinor reached it for him, dipping it into the bucket to fill with water, and handed it to Merlin who set to drinking as though utterly parched.

He was likely dehydrated still. The bounty hunter had probably deprived him of water as well as food, so Balinor was taking care to rehydrate him a little at a time, the same as building up his food intake, for the same reasons.

After hefting Merlin about by necessity, and judging by his energy levels, Balinor had come to think that maybe he hadn't been in the bounty hunter's clutches all that long after all. He was certainly hungry, but seemed to be naturally of quite a thin build. However long it was, it had certainly been long enough to scare him soundly. At his age that was unsurprising. The whole thing must have been terrible for him, especially if the state of his wrists were anything to go by.

"Merlin."

The lad looked up at him over his mug, still drinking. Balinor cleared his throat, aware that there would be resistance. "Where is your village?"

Merlin stopped drinking, and shook his head.

"Merlin," Balinor took the mug from him gently and set it on the table. He crouched down, taking hold of the boy's shoulders that Merlin faced him and that he could look him in the eye. "I need to know, so that I can take you home. If you don't tell me, then I can't do that." He spoke slowly, ensuring that Merlin listened well to what he was saying, and took it on board, "you need to tell me where you're from, boy."

Merlin did not answer. He shook his head again, looking for all the world as though he was about to burst into tears.

Balinor did not know what to do or say. He huffed to himself, and scrubbed a hand over his face. "You want to go home?"

To his confusion, Merlin shook his head, then nodded, only to shake it again.

"You don't want to go home?"

Merlin clearly did not know what to say or do. It didn't look as though he knew the answer to that himself.

"You want to see your mother?" Balinor pressed.

Merlin nodded readily, faltering as he realised that Balinor was looking back at him with a searching expression, waiting for more of an answer. He shook his head and brought his hands to his eyes.

Balinor rubbed Merlin's arms reassuringly as the boy began to shake under silent sobs. "You want to see your mother, but you don't want to go back to your village? Why?"

"..."

Balinor blinked, becoming frustrated, though he fought not to let it show. "Why?"

"Simmons." Merlin's small voice quaked.

Balinor's brows drew together. "Simmons?"

Merlin nodded, his shoulders relaxing a little. "Old man Simmons."

Balinor started, drawing back a little, "Old man- you're from Ealdor?"

Merlin looked up at him, eyes darting over the surprise on his face. He nodded his head.

Balinor felt winded. Breathless. "I know Ealdor," he told Merlin, a quiver to his voice. "Your mother is there?"

Again, Merlin nodded.

"And you're afraid of Simmons?"

Merlin swallowed, his throat bobbing. That was indication enough.

Balinor grit his teeth. Simmons was a singular piece of work. Disliked anything out of the ordinary. Had issues with magic, thought it unnatural, and vile, and was outspoken on the subject. Balinor frowned harder. The man would have taken out his dislike on a child? Terrified Merlin so much that the poor boy would be afraid to go home?

"Merlin, does your mother know you're afraid of Simmons?"

The little boy shook his head.

"What about your father?"

Merlin shook his head harder, a sob rising from his throat to echo in the cave.

Balinor ducked his head, hoping to catch the lad's eye. "Have you told him?"

No response.

"Alfred, or Galen?"

Merlin simply looked devastated.

Balinor squeezed his eyes shut, able he thought, to discern why. He ought to have known, really. Simmons was an elder. The men of Ealdor did not know how to fight. When the bounty hunter passed through the village he could have taken Merlin without difficulty. Nobody would have spoken up or resisted. Especially if it had been Simmons who turned over Merlin. There was little that they could have done, the way things were.

As much as he had come to dislike Simmons during his time in the village, Balinor never would have thought him capable of something so vicious. Simmons _was_ something of an opportunist, however. If Merlin had somehow gotten on his bad side, or if he found out that the boy had magic, then a bounty hunter passing through may have seemed too good to be true.

And only Merlin's mother had tried to stop it.

The thought made Balinor's blood boil. What sort of man was Merlin's father, that the boy's mother would fight for him, but he would not? Even he had challenged Simmons during his time in the village. The whole thing made him angry and rightly so.

"Merlin," he took the boy's arm, drawing the crying child round to face him proper. "Merlin, look at me."

The boy did as he was told, gnawing on one fingernail almost frantically.

Balinor stilled him, meeting his eyes with an earnest look of his own, "listen to me, boy. I am going to take you back to Ealdor, and I am I going to make damn sure that Old man Simmons knows that no harm is to come to you, understand?"

To his satisfaction, Merlin stared up at him wide-eyed. Balinor went on, "I know Simmons, and he knows me. He knows that I will not take no for an answer or I'll shout him down. And believe me, boy, there is nobody can shout as loud as me."

Merlin looked back at him in astonishment, rubbing the tears from one eye with the sleeve of his oversized tunic. He noted the seriousness in Balinor's eyes, and the contrasting smirk on his lips, and found himself smiling also.

Balinor raised both eyebrows, waiting for a further response from the child. "You believe me?"

To his relief, Merlin nodded, and gave a wide grin.

Balinor patted him on the head affectionately. "Good lad. Now go get your clothes. We'll get you dressed, your wounds sorted and I'll start dinner. We need to get going afterwards."

Obediently, Merlin nodded and ran to his bed to do as he was told.

Balinor watched him go, his feelings mixed. He was glad to finally know where he had to take Merlin, but felt conflicted about it. Anywhere else would have been a blessing. Not Ealdor.

He had resigned himself to never returning to the village, and yet now it seemed that he would find himself back there once again. The thought made his heart both leap and sink at the same time, however that was possible. It was both the place that he had been happiest, and somewhere that filled him with dread. With all his loss, returning there was sure to confront him with yet more. He really did not know if he could bear it.

Simmons would be a problem also. Not only for his position within the village, but for all that Balinor knew himself to be a laid back soul, he recognised that his temper could sometimes get the better of him. Looking at Merlin setting out his clothes and smoothing out the creases with such care, ready to put on, he realised that there was nothing more he would like than to break Simmons' jaw, 'old man' or not.

Whoever Merlin's father was, he could do with some sense knocked into him also. Perhaps it was his blood weighing in and influencing his opinion without knowing all of the facts, but to protect one's young was one of the most fundamental imperatives of a Dragonlord. The first born son carried the future of the line. To not fight for one's child was simply abhorrent. With that thought in mind, he found himself unsure that he wanted to know the man. Still, he needed to find out who he was returning the boy to.

"Merlin?"

The boy glanced back over his shoulder at him, blinking steadily.

Balinor blinked back at him, measuring the boy's looks thoughtfully. "Who is your father?"

To his surprise, Merlin shook his head and returned to gathering his clothing.

Balinor frowned. "You don't want to tell me?"

The boy shrugged, deepening Balinor's confusion. He opened his mouth to ask again, only to catch the way Merlin's shoulders quaked, heard his quiet sniffles.

He paused, and rubbed a hand over his mouth. It could wait. He knew where to take Merlin. He had gotten enough out of the boy for now. It would probably be better not to upset him further, or to have the time to dwell on the man he would be handing Merlin back to. Give him less of an opportunity to get het up and take the coward to task. If indeed, all had transpired as he believed it had. If the bounty hunter had taken Merlin with relative ease, and not-

The thought put Balinor on the back foot. What if there was no one to take Merlin back to? What then? The boy could be crying for any number of reasons, least of all that he was now an orphan. There maybe someone in the village who would take Merlin in - as she had taken in another lost soul - but that thought too filled him with worry.

It did no good to think that way. One thing at a time.

He had to wonder though, yet could not equate Merlin to any of the men he knew in Ealdor. There were a few women he could recall that Merlin could feasibly belong to. The most likely in his mind was Rhoda, the dark-haired seamstress. She was a rather fiery woman who'd no qualms about shouting at a man for any reason. She'd no children when he was in the village, but there were plenty attempting to court her when he left. Merlin could possibly be hers.

He thoughtlessly opened his mouth to ask Merlin, but stopped himself, and swallowed. More than the possibility that Merlin no longer had a mother, he shouldn't want to know about her. He should not get too invested in Merlin beyond taking him home. The boy was nothing to do with him. How he was raised was none of his business.

He would take Merlin home, talk to Simmons about leaving the lad be, as he had promised, and avoid getting involved with anyone or anything else in the village. That way he may not have to face what he feared the most in returning there. She would be spared the misery of facing him, also.

… Who was he to call anyone else a coward?

With a deep sigh, he scrubbed his hands back over his face, got to his feet and made for the table to prepare the salve for Merlin's wrists.

Whatever happened when they reached Ealdor, he knew that he ought to start preparing himself for heartache. A prospect that set a downturn in his mood he had to try and ignore. He could not let himself mope, for Merlin's sake.

* * *

Night drew on quickly once the blue skies clouded over. Rain looked to be due at some point, but not for a couple of hours. Balinor tugged at the straps of his knapsack that they rested comfortably over his shoulders, and glanced up at the black sky. The last signs of blue light were fading rapidly in the west. It would soon be totally dark.

Merlin stood at his side, fingers twined in the thigh of his trousers as they seemed to be whenever the boy stood beside him. The little lad was fed and rested, and wrapped about his shoulders in a small fox fur Balinor had once traded for and forgotten about, and dug out of the sacks under the table. His wrists were freshly tended and bandaged. They were as ready as they would ever be.

With a light intake of breath Balinor held out his hand to Merlin, who dutifully released his trouser leg to take it and waited whilst the little boy waved goodbye to the cave before starting out over the smooth rocks beside the stream.

Ealdor was not far. About a half day's walk from Engerd which was in itself only about a league* from the cave. Engerd however, lay right on the border with Camelot. While passing through the town did not strike him as a good idea, Balinor needed to ensure that the bounty hunter had moved on.

They made their way through the forest, zig-zagging up the hill out of the valley at something of a snail's pace compared to Balinor's usual walking speed. Merlin's little legs could not keep up with that, so proceedings were bound to be slower. Still, he trundled along at Balinor's side, clutching his hand with tight little fingers. He could not see very well in the dark, apparently.

They eventually made it to the top of the hill and the road that ran along its crest. Balinor had to pick Merlin up and carry him across the brambles and large rocks that bordered the road's edge, but Merlin did not seem to mind, clinging to him as he went.

It was almost halfway before Merlin grew tired and he had to be carried again. To his credit he did not complain, only tugging on Balinor's coat to let him know when he could go no further. He was swept up and carried from there on, eventually putting his head down on Balinor's shoulder and drifting off to sleep with the bobbing rock of the Dragonlord's long, bouncing stride.

He slept for some long time, mouthing his thumb intermittently and only waking when Balinor set him down a couple of times to rest his arms, and when the first drops of rain fell.

The night was well advanced and the rain lashing down by the time the rooftops and lights of Engerd came into view. Balinor darted into the shadow of a small house, tugging Merlin along with him that the boy stayed close.

Holding his little shoulders, Balinor felt Merlin shaking and knew that it was not just shivers from the rain. He peered around the wall, at the inn across the street.

There was no sign of the bounty hunter's cage, or of any of Eldred's men. The street was completely empty. Cautious, Balinor tugged Merlin across the road by his hand, over to the side of the inn and through the door that he knew was there.

* * *

It opened onto a corner of the bar, out of the light of the candles. Balinor kept Merlin behind him, and scanned the room carefully before moving any further in.

The place was empty – no lingering patrons hiding away in shadowed corners. One man did remain; a large, bearded man likely in his early thirties, reading laboriously over several sheets of parchment at the bar.

Balinor brushed a hand back over Merlin's soaked hair, and started forward to approach the man.

"Ned."

The man looked up over his shoulder, an expression of disbelief settling firmly on his face. He got to his feet, facing the newcomer in surprise. "Balinor?"

The Dragonlord smiled, stepping forward to meet the man's brotherly embrace with a chuckle. "Hello, Ned."

Merlin hung back, staring up at them, unsure.

The men released one another, taking a moment to share mutual smiles. Ned broke first, shaking his head and looking Balinor up and down. "You haven't changed a bit."

"It's only been a couple of years."

"And look at me." Ned sobered, looking down at Merlin. "This your little one?"

Balinor glanced at Merlin, noting the worry on the lad's face. He took his hand. "No. This is Merlin. I'm taking him home to his village."

Ned considered Merlin carefully, his scrutiny making the child uncomfortable. After a moment, he rubbed his chin and turned his attention back to Balinor.

"Could pass as yours. Got ears like you."

Balinor frowned, a little annoyed by mention of his least favourite feature. He let it go and fixed Ned with a serious look, "there was a man here," he began, voice a little shaky, "a bounty hunter-"

"Halig," Ned put in, nodding his understanding. "He's gone. Left here yesterday."

The tension washed out of Balinor, hearing those words. He breathed an audible sigh of relief and swiped a hand back into his hair, grabbing a handful in an attempt to ground himself. "Then, I need to ask something of you." He leant down and picked up Merlin and sat the boy on his hip. "We need help."

Ned considered the two of them carefully, no flicker of doubt crossing his face but clear worry. He shuttered his eyes and raked a hand back through his own rapidly thinning hair. "Balinor, you're my brother. What do you need?"

"Somewhere to stay. Just for tonight."

Ned did not have to think about it. He nodded his head, "follow me."

* * *

It was strange, but Merlin had sunk into a sort of silent shaking fit. Balinor rocked him, pacing the length of the room that Ned had shown them to, listening to everything the innkeeper had to tell him about Halig and his whereabouts with an expression of stone cold hatred on his face.

The vicious bastard had spent several evenings at the inn, waxing lyrical to any that would listen about the 'baby sorcerer' he had captured, and the pretty sum that Uther Pendragon would pay for him. If the desire to kill the man had not stirred in Balinor before, it certainly did now.

After a while Ned left with the promise to make breakfast for them in the morning. There was apparently nobody else at the inn that night, so they need not worry about being discovered. Before he left Ned had admonished Balinor for not dropping in on previous visits to town and engaged in a hearty handshake with him that brought him into close proximity to Merlin, sending the child into a violent shaking fit.

As soon as Ned was gone and the door closed behind him, Balinor sat Merlin down on the end of one of the beds and looked him over in concern. "What's the matter, boy?"

Merlin did not say anything, but rubbed at his eye. His shakes had subsided, but he still appeared fearful. Balinor glanced about the room, uncertain,

"Is it this place?"

Merlin shook his head, but continued to rub his eyes. Balinor swallowed, frowning as he tried to surmise what it was that upset his young charge so. "Are you afraid of Ned?" That seemed like the next most likely reason.

To his surprise, Merlin nodded.

It took Balinor aback. "Why? He did something? When you were here before? In the cage?"

Merlin shook his head. "Bad men," he muttered under his breath.

"Bad men?" Balinor looked at the boy squarely. "Why do you say that?"

Without explanation, Merlin leant forward and brushed his hands over Balinor's jaw.

"Bad men," he repeated with a quiver.

What did he mean by that? Balinor tried to decipher it, aware that what Merlin thought a simple explanation was complex to anyone not possessed of a child's logic. What his face could mean to- ah.

He lowered his eyes, staring at Merlin's feet dangling over the end of the bed that they rested atop his knees where he crouched. "Bad men have beards, is that it?"

In his periphery, Merlin nodded.

Balinor understood. "Like Simmons, and Halig?"

Merlin nodded again, with new certainty.

"I must have been a bad man."

Hurriedly Merlin shook his head, becoming distressed at the flaw in his logic, and at the idea of his having upset Balinor. He all but launched himself off the bed at Balinor, caught up in the man's arms as he threw his own around the Dragonlord's neck. Merlin shook his head vigorously and began to cry.

Balinor sighed, and folded the hysterical child in a secure cuddle. "It's alright, Merlin," he soothed. "I'm trying to understand. You haven't anything to cry about."

He held onto Merlin, resting his cheek against the boy's hair, rubbing his back reassuringly. He huffed, more to himself than to Merlin. "I'm not upset. I look ridiculous with a beard, anyway."

A grin tugged at his lips, hearing Merlin giggle next to his ear. Carefully, he extracted Merlin and held him at arm's length that the boy stood on his own two feet, and chucked his cheek. "It's good to be cautious, Merlin. It's a skill we can all do well to learn. You don't have to worry about how a person looks. There's no judging a man's character by looks alone."

Merlin nodded, taking the man in front of him as proof of that quite readily.

Balinor continued, "and you needn't be afraid of Ned."

The boy looked unsure whether or not to take that assurance to heart. He thought on it some, before arriving at a conclusion.

"Brothers?" He asked, uncertain.

Balinor hesitated to answer. How could he explain it to the child? He doubted that Merlin would be able to grasp the concept of milk kinship. "Sort of."

Again, Merlin took that at face value, and raised his hand to rub at his eye.

Balinor smiled at him, quietly thankful that he was such a laid back child really, and reached out to pick him up under his arms. "Come on."

He sat Merlin back on the end of the bed and set about rummaging through his knapsack for the oversized nightshirt he had packed for the lad. Businesslike, he held the garment up and dutifully shook out the creases. "Let's get you to bed."

After the journey from the cave it seemed that Merlin was more than glad to do as he was told. No sooner had he wriggled under the covers and laid his head on the pillow did he begin to drift off.

He was asleep and breathing softly before Balinor had finished tucking him in.

The Dragonlord looked at him a moment, smiling as the boy's thumb found its way into his mouth again.

He couldn't fool himself that he wasn't becoming attached to the lad. Merlin was a very endearing little person. It was hard not to like him. He recognised also, however, that being so isolated left him in need of human company. Solitude had never really appealed. He was very much a pack animal, and always had been. Having someone to talk to other than himself was something of a relief. Even the inane chatter of a child was better than the endless silence.

Tired, he pulled the cord from his hair and shook it out to run a hand back through the damp waves. Travelling under cover of darkness this far had given him piece of mind. He hadn't wanted to fall foul of Merlin's captor in daylight, and risk drawing Eldred's men into the inevitable fray should there be any in town. He had needed to know that the man had moved on.

He couldn't help but reflect on Ned's assurances with relief as he stripped off his shirt for a clean nightshirt. It was likely that Halig would have headed to Ealdor once the search for himself and Merlin proved fruitless. It was the decent thing to do, returning a lost child to their parents. Returning to the boy's village seemed a logical step to take, working on the off chance that Balinor was indeed a decent person. In the best case scenario Halig would have given Merlin up as a lost cause and moved on to other parts. That would be ideal. On the other hand, it was likely that he and Merlin would now be travelling behind the bounty hunter towards Ealdor. Hunting may not be his forte, but Balinor recognised that he possessed skill in tracking. With Halig leading the way it would be much easier to avoid catching up with, or running into him.

Reassured, Balinor clambered into the other bed, drawing the blanket up over himself and turned onto his side. He made to blow out the candle atop the small chest of drawers between the two beds, when his gaze fell on his charge.

He found a soft smile at the sight, and huffed, wondering how he had ended up in this situation, and surprised at himself that he was not regretful of any of it.

"Goodnight, Merlin."

The child stirred a little, smacking his lips around his thumb as he rolled onto his back, throwing his other arm above his head onto his pillow.

"G'night," he murmured, barely awake, before breathing a deep sigh and drifting off into dreams once more.

Balinor shook his head gently. He leant over and blew out the candle.

* * *

*One league = about three miles/4.82 Kilometres. Or roughly the distance one could walk in an hour.


	5. Five

Πέρασμα των πορειών

* * *

Five

When he woke the next morning, it was to Merlin shaking his arm again. Balinor blinked and sat up with a grunt, running his hand back through his hair. Ned was there, having placed a tray on the table and was in the process of pouring milk into a mug. He cast a glance at Balinor and smiled, amused.

"Still sleep in after sun up?"

"Never done mornings," Balinor answered roughly, and reached for Merlin to pull him up onto his bed to sit with him as the little lad held his arms out to him.

"The life of a peasant was never for you," Ned replied sagely, "Birth aside, you were always made to be nobility." He picked up two mugs and crossed the room to hand them to his guests, Merlin thanking him in a small voice that made him chuckle.

"Resent that sentiment," Balinor muttered towards the innkeeper, and took a sip from his mug. "But not some of the comforts. Milk and honey?"

Ned nodded, and took a seat on Merlin's vacant bed. "Always your favourite."

A fond smile tugged at Balinor's lips. He looked at Merlin where the child sat tucked in against his chest. "What you got?"

"Milk!" Merlin replied enthusiastically, clearly a fan. Both men grinned at that, and at the excited little bounce he gave.

"He's a bonny lad," Ned remarked, watching him enjoy his drink, curled up against Balinor so happily. "You sure he's not yours? The two of you could easily share blood."

Balinor shook his head, and glanced at Merlin, the boy completely unaware of what Ned meant as he sipped at his milk hungrily. With a twitch to his brow, Balinor threw a 'look' at Ned, as though the man were daft, "Ned."

The innkeeper shrugged. "It were your job and all, weren't it? To have a son?"

The amusement on Balinor's face faded. He dropped his gaze to lose it somewhere in his mug. "It was expected of me," he murmured after a moment. "I don't think it really matters now does it? I am the last of my kind."

Ned looked pained at that, at the look on Balinor's face. "What of your dragon? He remains in Camelot, still?"

Merlin looked from one man to the other, his eyes wide. Balinor had a dragon? Of his own?

Bitter, Balinor nodded. "Uther's trophy," he almost spat, snarling the words out under his breath.

"Sad business," Ned acknowledged, vastly underestimating the very nature of it all.

Balinor did not say anything to enlighten him, but tightened his grip on his mug. "Have... you heard from Camelot of late?" he asked after a while, hopeful.

Ned shook his head. "There's been no more letters. No more requests for rooms. They no longer pass through this way," he murmured in a low tone born of habit, and caution, and secrecy. "It lasted only a short while. You were the first, the last coming about a year later."

Understanding, appreciative, Balinor nodded. "You're a good man, Ned."

The innkeeper shook his head. "I only done what was needed to save your skin, brother. The others were a bonus."

The two men shared a smile, Merlin looking between them but not understanding.

Balinor turned his eyes down on the mattress beneath him, his brow pinching. "I worry about Gaius," he murmured after a moment. "He lives on a knife's edge, remaining so close to that tyrant. Uther could turn on him at any moment, yet he stays in Camelot."

"You know why he does."

"He should have come with me."

"And lives that have been saved would have been lost."

Balinor nodded, his jaw clenching, lapsed into silence. He did understand why the physician remained behind, at Uther's side. There were many who saw Gaius as a coward, renouncing the Old Religion and currying the King's favour that he would keep his head, standing by and watching his kind burn. Balinor did not believe that. Gaius was best placed to help those he could. He was able to speak to Uther in a way that others were not, could attempt to change his mind. Seldom was he successful, but lives had been saved one way or another. Regardless of what others may think of him, Balinor knew him to be a good man, and he would defend him to the last.

It was Ned who broke the silence, slapping his hands down on his thighs and getting to his feet in a fluid movement, "I'll leave you to yourselves. I've delayed opening up for you this morning. It'll not hurt to delay a little longer, though you should be away soon. It'll be harder, the longer you tarry."

Balinor understood perfectly. If any of Eldred's men remained, then they would come to the inn when it opened. It was a traditional haunt when they passed through Engerd.

Ned offered Balinor a nod, and left him and Merlin alone to breakfast, and make ready to run.

* * *

The fastest way from Engerd to Ealdor was along the well-trodden road linking one to the other. That was too risky. It was the path that Halig would have chosen to follow, being the safest and easiest for his horse and his cage. They would take a path that ran parallel, through the open country between the forests of Merendra and Tir Wyn. The latter bordered Ealdor itself, so would bring them on approach from behind the village, and eliminate the risk of passing too close to Camelot's border. It would be easier to lose any pursuers in the networks of trails winding through the woods, and while it would take longer to get there, it would ultimately be safer.

Operating on such a high level of paranoia disturbed Balinor some, but he realised it was a necessity. After living as a fugitive he had come to recognise caution as his greatest ally, and that necessities were always just that. Necessary.

At present they strolled along a game trail used predominantly by deer, going by the state of the tree bark around it. Merlin meandered along beside him, keeping up with the slow pace set, and almost never taking his eyes off Balinor.

It had been that way since he had finished his milk. Something Ned had said possibly, that had Merlin regarding him strangely. Balinor could not think what, and Merlin had no fear along with the strange new interest he took in his guardian, so Balinor elected not to worry about it. He did however wish that Merlin would keep his eyes on where he was walking. He had observed that Merlin was not the steadiest on his feet, and if he did not look where he was going then eventually he would wind up falling over.

They had been walking for about half an hour, and were nearing the Merendra tree line when Balinor halted. He had been carrying Merlin on his hip for a short time when a loud snap accompanied by voices reached him from the trees to his left.

The trail they were walking crested a small ridge, below which ran the main forest path. Bidding Merlin shush, Balinor quietly approached the ridge and peered over to the forest below. Men wearing yellow and bearing the red and white shield of Essetirian soldiers* were there. A large group of them, combing the bracken with swords drawn.

Panicked, Balinor drew back behind a nearby oak tree, clutching Merlin to him that the child would not whimper and give them away. His heart hammered in his chest. What were they doing down there? Why so many? Somehow, the logical side of his brain told him that they could not be looking for him and Merlin still. The soldiers had only chased him at all because they had witnessed a breach of the peace first hand. So why so many, and what were they doing?

He felt Merlin begin to shake in his arms. Quietly, he shushed the boy, and moved back into the forest, away from the soldiers, unaware of the pair of eyes that turned in his direction, in time to see the shapes of a man and child leave the ridge.

Inwardly, he swore. While potentially Eldred's men were not looking for either himself or Merlin, he did not want to take the chance that one among them may have been involved in chasing him when he had first freed Merlin.

The game trail intersected with the main path a little way ahead. It was likely that their paths would cross if he continued that way. To be safe he should head East, further towards the city of Essetir. Turning North at the far side of Merendra would take them along the old shepherds walk through the hills and the Towy valley where the river cut through. They could then approach Ealdor West through the Tir Wyn forest as he originally planned, and hopefully avoid running into either Eldred's men or Halig.

Not for the first time he found himself glad of the knowledge he had picked up over these past few years in the wilderness.

It took some time to find the trail leading through the undergrowth in the direction he wanted, but when they did, Balinor found himself frowning. They happened upon another patrol of Essetir soldiers.

Something did not make sense. Why would Eldred dispatch such a large force this far West? He still did not flatter himself that they were searching for him, and the border towns were of little interest to the King, so why?

The border with Camelot was close, and while Essetir and Camelot had been staunch allies in the past, the relationship had broken down somewhat since the purge to become more of an understanding constantly teetering on the edge of war. Eldred had been known to turn a blind eye to sorcerers escaping Camelot over his borders, and that had left a sour taste in Uther's mouth.

These men did not look like a raiding party heading for Camelot, or an invasion force, however.

His throat dry, Balinor whet it with a swallow, and tugged Merlin away along the path by which they had come and into the safety of the low-growing hazel and bracken.

* * *

Evening was well advanced by the time they reached the tree line. It truly should not have taken so long to get that far, but eventually it became clear that the entire wood was overrun with Eldred's men. The only option had been to keep going until it was possible to pass them and continue towards the valley. Avoiding them and backtracking had wasted the better part of the day, and Merlin was absolutely exhausted.

Balinor had made the decision to stop and not continue into the night. Scouting around the immediate area had taken him back a little way from the forest's edge and presented a low hollow near the game trail that was not particularly easy to access if one wanted to remain upright. It was suitably hidden in this lesser explored area of the woods, and felt abandoned enough by larger animals to be safe. So after sliding down the steep edge on his backside, Merlin clutched tightly in his arms, Balinor had set up a sparse camp and got a small fire going that would last just long enough to cook a thin vegetable soup. The two of them now sat in silence, the fire doused by dirt and only a small ball of white light floating in the air above its remains warding off complete darkness.

Again, Balinor found it difficult to eat. Merlin should have been home by now, and safely asleep in his mother's arms. As it was, he sat tucking into his bowl of soup and wrapped up in his blanket on the forest floor. He paused eating occasionally to bat away the ball of light with a grin when it drifted too close to his shoulder, but otherwise seemed unperturbed by the magic. It seemed to be drawn to him.

Balinor watched quietly over his own almost untouched bowl. A million thoughts rattled around inside his head, not least concerning the lingering presence of Eldred's men so close to the border. The spread of them through the woods, and the pattern of their behaviour was indicative of something that Balinor did not want to consider.

He laid his own bowl on his thigh and threaded his fingers, raising his hands to his lips to nibble at their edge in contemplation.

Living in an isolated cave did little towards his being current with political gossip, but it had, as far as he was aware, been a few years since the last Camelot Knights crossed the ridge of Ascetir without pre-agreed consent. If it was so that Uther was trespassing on Eldred's soil again, then he needed to be very cautious.

Halig's whereabouts worried him also. He could be anywhere from Ealdor to Glouvia by now. Crossing paths with him was not a desirable prospect. Balinor closed his eyes and swallowed.

And what of when he reached Ealdor? He did not know if he could cope with running into Hunith. Seeing her married, with children would tear him apart. Certainly so if she were unhappy with it. Perhaps he could just hand Merlin over to the first adult he saw and run?

He squeezed his eyes shut. Could he really do that to the boy? Simply abandon him to someone else at the first opportunity?

He opened his eyes and gazed over at Merlin where he sat digging into his soup. The boy felt his eyes on him, and looked up, a happy smile on his face. Balinor chastised himself soundly. Of course he could not. Leaving him without a second thought was awful. He simply could not do it. What kind of coward would that make him? What kind of hypocrite? Had he not promised also to have words with Simmons? He would not go back on that, no matter how much he feared venturing into the village.

But he could not see Hunith, as much as he wanted to. He had to know, though. As much as he had told himself not to ask, had committed himself to not knowing, he could not stick to it. He had to ask. Merlin would be able to tell him. Everyone knew her. She was the closest thing Ealdor had to a physician. She probably assisted at the boy's birth.

He took a deep breath, aware that Merlin's smile had faded and morphed into a look of childish concern. "I'm okay," he assured the lad gruffly.

Likely unconvinced, Merlin returned to his soup, worrying at the chunks of carrot with his little wooden spoon. Balinor took up his own bowl and spoon again, intending to eat and allay the lad's fears, but found himself unable. Instead he set it aside and raked both hands back through his hair, sitting forwards to lean on his knees with an almighty huff.

"Merlin," he began, his stomach rending itself in burning knots, "do you know a woman in your village? Hunith?"

Merlin nodded readily, hurriedly swallowing a mouthful of soup to answer. "Mam."

The word froze Balinor to the bone. He stared at Merlin in disbelief. "Mam?" he choked out, "Hunith is your mother?"

Merlin nodded again. "Mam," he repeated in his childish tone.

Balinor's heart twisted and sunk. Hunith _had_ moved on then? Soon after he left, if Merlin was four summers. Very soon. He chided himself for his disappointment and hurt. Of course she had. Why should she not, after what he did?

She must have been angry. He knew that he would have been in her position. Waking to find an empty pillow, all of his belongings gone, and marauding Camelot soldiers tearing the place apart. He had run away in the dead of night, left her without what must have seemed a second thought. She would have been hurt. She had given him everything, and he had left her. For her own safety, as the note he had left informed her, but in a manner that would fail to do anything but hurt. He had hoped that she would understand. He still hoped that she did. He had not wanted to leave, and he dearly wished she knew that.

He tried to force all thoughts of his actions away, and commanded himself to be pleased for her. At least one of them had moved on. He, as it seemed, remained a glutton for punishment.

"What about your father, Merlin?" he pushed himself to ask again. "What is his name?"

Merlin shrugged a shoulder and continued eating his soup.

Balinor was taken aback. "Is he...?" How could he possibly phrase 'dead' so as not to upset the boy?

Merlin shrugged again, missing his meaning. "No da," he said simply, invested in his soup. "Me, and mam, and Will sometimes."

"Will?"

Merlin looked up at Balinor and nodded happily. "Will is my best friend," he announced proudly, only for his smile to fade away, and his nose to wrinkle in sadness. "I want mam and Will."

Balinor reached out and closed a gentle hand on Merlin's shoulder, hoping to comfort him. The boy set his bowl down and crawled across the short space between them to get to his feet and hold out his arms to his guardian. Balinor picked Merlin up and sat him on his lap, wrapping his arms around the child as Merlin nestled in against his chest.

He held onto the boy, his cheek resting down on the top of Merlin's head. There was little he could do to comfort Merlin beyond hold him. Missing Hunith was something that he could relate to. The only Will he could think of in Ealdor was Sam and Maria's son. He would be about a year older than Merlin.

He did wonder though, about Merlin's father. He did not doubt that Merlin was Hunith's son. Now that he thought about it, the boy had her eyes, and her smile. He did wonder why Merlin knew nothing of his father. It was not like Hunith to hide something like that from a person. She had always been so invested in truth. It unsettled him deeply, niggling at him, setting a deep ache in his guts that both hurt and worried him almost sick. It made him tighten his hold on Merlin, swallow back any tears it brought. It was only a small thought, vague and hard to grasp, but had been there, poking in the back of his mind since speaking to Ned that morning. It could not be right, as he would have known. He was sure that he would. Somehow.

Discomfited, he forced it away and concentrated on comforting the boy.

"I know your mother, Merlin," he murmured, feeling Merlin turn his head to look up at him. "We were... friends."

"Mam's friend?"

Balinor nodded. "Yes. I lived in Ealdor, once."

Merlin blinked up at him owlishly. He understood the concept of friends, and twisted his hands up in Balinor's tunic, nestling himself inside the heavy coat the Dragonlord wore to keep warm in the cool evening. Balinor noticed, and reached down to pick up the blanket from the ground and wrap it around his shoulders and Merlin, shrugging into it.

Sighing deeply, he held onto Merlin and stroked the boy's hair, staring into space. He became aware again of the nagging sensation in his guts, but chose to ignore it. Instead he focused on Merlin, and making sure that the lad was comfortable and warm. It was not long however, before he lost himself to his own thoughts once again, and the possibilities that they assailed him with.

Eventually, he had to move in order to start gathering ferns and moss. Merlin stirred with his movements, and rubbed his eyes tiredly. He made no objections to being lifted up and laid down on the bedroll where he settled under his blanket with a small huff. He watched Balinor move about the camp, gathering what was necessary to build himself a nest, blinking at him silently.

"Dragon?" he asked after a while, meeting Balinor's questioning eyes with wide ones of his own.

The man frowned, not understanding. Merlin tried again,

"Your dragon?"

"My dragon?"

Merlin nodded. "You have a dragon?"

Balinor's face fell, Merlin's an echo of it as he realised that he had upset the man.

Shocking himself into action, Balinor rubbed his eyes and took a breath. "Um, no... Not any more." He caught the downcast look on Merlin's face and forced a smile. "Used to have."

Merlin's little face lit up, not recognising Balinor's smile as a veneer. "Was he big?"

Balinor nodded, his smile becoming genuine at the lad's enthusiasm. "Yes. Very big."

"Did he fly?"

"Yes, Merlin."

"Fast?"

"Very fast."

"What colour?"

"Gold."

"Gold?"

Merlin stared back at him, transfixed. Balinor smiled, and crossed to crouch beside him and pull the blanket up to his ear. "Yes. Gold."

Merlin kicked out under the blanket, and snuggled down in it until only the top of his head and his wide, blue eyes peeped out from underneath it.

Balinor couldn't help but grin, and patted the boy on the head affectionately. "I used to ride on his back..."

The moon was high behind the clouds by the time Merlin drifted off to sleep, and Balinor could cease telling stories of his dragon. The child had wanted to hear everything there was to say about Kilgarrah, and the things that he could do. Eventually he could not stay awake any longer and fell asleep on his side, the ball of light coming to rest on the bedroll beside him of its own volition, where Balinor bade it quieten until it glowed only faintly that it should not attract attention. It would remain until morning, and comfort the boy should he wake and find the night dark, still.

As much as he expected tales of Kilgarrah to make him sad, he found that was not the case as he settled down beneath his coat, in his own bed of ferns and fallen leaves. There was something comforting in speaking of Kilgarrah to someone who didn't know of him. He fell asleep himself, thinking of his old friend, curled up beneath a warm wave of nostalgia and relief. As though a burden had been lifted from his shoulders. For the time being, at least.

* * *

The tone of the distant sky threatened rain in the future. At present, the over cast clouds looked light enough to be truly benevolent, graduating to a dark, ominous shade over West towards Camelot.

Likely to match Uther Pendragon's perpetually foul mood, Balinor imagined.

The hills were quiet, rolling away dramatically and majestically into the distance as hills were wont to do. They made him feel safe. The flatlands leading towards them were alive with birdsong belonging to the small feathered fellows that called the wiry bramble bushes their home, the odd one or two appearing from the leaves every now and again to hop about and peer at the man and boy passing through their normally deserted domain.

Balinor deemed it safe to relax. He could not sense anyone nearby, physically or magically, so allowed himself the chance to let the tension drop from his shoulders. He wandered along the sheep track at a leisurely pace, holding the straps of his knapsack with hooked thumbs. Merlin darted back and forth across the track in zigzags, investigating stones and the birds' bushes, into absolutely everything. His ordeal with Halig seemed forgotten, or at the very least far from his mind as he unleashed his curiosity on the world around him. Balinor was glad of it, and kept a careful eye on him, calling him back if he ventured too far ahead or off the track.

They were making good progress, and once they crossed the river and took time to rest, ought to reach Ealdor by mid afternoon. Merlin would need a rest quite soon. He was well on his way to wearing himself out. He would ask to be carried in a little while as he had gone quite far on foot already since waking.

It hadn't taken them long to get away that morning. Balinor had woken before Merlin for the first time, and risen with the sun to the contrary of Ned's jibe the previous day. He had gotten Merlin up and fed with the minimum of fuss and set about putting away their belongings. Merlin had insisted that he help hide evidence of the camp. Balinor gladly showed him how, taught him the quickest, most efficient ways of keeping one's presence and passage secret. It may well help the boy in later life.

Without a word, Merlin veered off the track and scrambled under a bramble bush sprawling over a small heap of grey rocks. He didn't disappear from sight completely, his bum and legs still visible under the briers. After a moment, he shimmied out backwards, holding something in his hands. Excited by his find, he toddled over to Balinor and held it up for the man to see.

"Dragon?"

As with the other couple of reptiles Merlin had presented him with that morning, Balinor examined it dutifully, and shook his head. The disgruntled lizard licked its lips and blinked at him lazily, before being being carted off back to the bramble bush to be deposited on the same rock that Merlin had found him on. That done, Merlin wandered off in search of another prospective candidate.

Balinor watched him, ensuring that he was safe before throwing another cautious glance around their wider surroundings.

Stories of Kilgarrah had the little lad obsessed with dragons this morning. He was determined to find one before he got home. As much as thinking about dragons normally left him morose, Balinor found that it was not the case when it was Merlin who caused it. He could not deny how fond he had grown of the boy, and knowing that he was Hunith's, Balinor knew that ensuring his safety and timely return to Ealdor was even more of a priority for him than it had been originally. Merlin had so much of his mother in him, how could anyone wish harm on him? Poking about in the grass, giggling, the child had such a zest for life, it was infectious. He demanded of Balinor that he be kept safe and protected without saying a word to that effect. He also demanded Balinor's full attention more often than not, as he did again, appearing in front of him to hold up his latest offering for inspection.

"Dragon?"

Again, Balinor shook his head, and reached out to relieve Merlin of his new friend. "He's not a dragon, Merlin," he told the lad gently, "he's a baby grass snake, and he looks a little uncomfortable."

Merlin looked uncertain, and handed the small, white-collared snake over to Balinor. Despite the expression on its face, if snakes _could_ form expressions, the snake seemed placid enough, flicking its tongue but not hissing a hollow warning. It wriggled heartily however, in danger of being dropped.

Balinor held it in his palm, and spoke to it in a low, rasping voice, "Einni i.*"

Immediately it wound itself into a coil and lay still, shuttering its little round eyes as though to fall asleep. Balinor put it back in the patch of long grass Merlin had taken it from, and ruffled the boy's hair as he stood to continue along the track.

Happy, Merlin clapped his hands and ran to keep up, reaching to take Balinor's hand.

For all that he manhandled the countryside's assorted reptiles, none of them had seemed overly concerned by Merlin's curiousity. He seemed to have a way with them. Again, Balinor's guts panged uncomfortably. He tried to pay them no heed, but could not help but think on Ned's words again, or the ignore the way in which his fingers tightened around Merlin's that his hold was more secure.

He forced his attention to return to the track ahead, and made a conscious effort to worry about what lay beyond the river at its end.

* * *

*Einni i – Peace.

*Red and white shield, later to become a snake under Cenred. Fitting really.


	6. Six

Πέρασμα των πορειών

* * *

Six

They had reached the river in good time. There was no bridge by which to cross and never had been. The track crossed the river by way of a ford which had doubled as a sheep wash used by the drovers herding to market at Culcheth and Martslock near Essetir's Northern borders. It, like the track, had not seen the droving of sheep for many years, and had accumulated small slime covered pebbles and algae that grew in a deep green mat, and drifted and waved in the slow current.

Without preamble, Balinor sat down on the short, springy grass of the bank. Seeing him remove his boots and roll up his trousers, Merlin had promptly done the same, believing that they were going to play in the water. Balinor hadn't the heart to tell him otherwise, so took a moment to rest while Merlin paddled in the almost still shallows beside the bank, away from the slippery algae, collecting duckweed in a rather set and industrious manner. The boy chatted to himself the whole time he carried out his self- imposed task, careful not to get his clothes wet as he picked up handfuls of the plant from the ankle deep water and moved it to where he wanted it in a hollow part of the bank that had collapsed. While Merlin played, doing as he was told and never venturing out of the shallows or quick reach, Balinor had fished two apples and some bread and cheese that Ned had given him from his knapsack for himself and Merlin when the boy was finished with his weeds. The sight of food brought Merlin running not long later.

The two of them had sat on the bank in comfortable near silence while they ate, until Merlin had begun giggling uncontrollably, only to point out Balinor's bare feet, and subsequently his long toes.

The Dragonlord had peered down at them briefly, but been unable to see anything out of the ordinary about them. They matched his long fingers. Merlin however found them absolutely hilarious, until Balinor informed him that he would probably have similar toes when he finished growing. At which point Merlin had taken to staring at his little feet, dumbfounded a moment, snapping out of it to break into a barrage of questions about them, and why people grew in the first place, and what toes were for and so on until it was time to go.

It wasn't long after being picked up and carried across the river that Merlin had begun to grind to a halt and asked to be carried again. Despite something to eat and a sit down, he was still tired. He had been a living flurry of activity all morning, excited by absolutely everything. They had not long broken the tree line of Tir Wyn and now Balinor made his way along a seldom used path that eventually branched off through the trees towards Ealdor, Merlin on his hip.

It worried him that the boy was so light. He should grow heavy to carry long before he did. He was not getting enough to eat on a day to day basis. Neither would Hunith be. It could not be easy for her to provide for herself and a small child on the meagre food shared out between Ealdor's people. Perhaps he could do something to remedy that? Hunt for her when he did for himself, maybe? Hunith didn't need to know that it was him doing it. That way she wouldn't feel beholden to him, and Merlin would get a regular supply of good food down him.

It was doable in theory. Really and truly he wasn't that far away. He hadn't run far when he fled Ealdor. He could well afford the time to travel out that way with a quiet gift of rabbits, or a brace of pheasants.

Walking the small path, he halted, and took a breath. He was still trying to provide for her, wasn't he? He was still looking on her as his mate. Possibly more strongly than he had previously. He glanced down at Merlin in his arms, the boy looking out around the forest with interest, and adjusted his hold on him that he could brush his thumb over the boy's cheek. Merlin looked up at him curiously, his own thumb in his mouth, but said nothing. Balinor offered him a tremulous smile, and continued on along the path.

Nature had prepared him to be a hunter and a provider for Hunith and any babes that they would have. These past years he had thought it pointless preparation, an urge that had been awakened in him and that left unfulfilled, had made him restless and desperate to be useful when he thought of her.

Annoyed at himself, and his very nature, he breathed a harsh sigh and adjusted his hold on Merlin that the boy would not slip.

He had to stop this. The prospect of seeing Hunith again, it may all amount to nothing. There was no guarantee that she would not be angry with him, nor that she would even want to see him again. He had been away too long, been separated from her too absolutely. She may not want him any longer. The notion broke his heart, but how could he blame her? While he yearned for her and ached for her so, she may not want him near her.

Did all men feel this way, he wondered, when they were in love? Or was it the burden of a creature of magic? The tie between Dragonlords and their mates echoed that of drakes and their dragonesses. Drakes had on occasion been known to give up and die, rather than spend more than a thousand years in seclusion mourning a lost mate. While he harboured no such drastic ideas, Balinor thought that he could understand. If the way he had felt these past four years were to be drawn out so long, he was unsure how he would cope.

He rubbed at his eye with the back of his hand and cleared his throat, inadvertently drawing Merlin to look up at him once again. The child blinked at him, and took his thumb from his mouth to hook his arms around Balinor's neck, and lay his head on his guardian's shoulder. Balinor rubbed his back absently, aware that Merlin was probably about to go to sleep.

Not having to worry about where Merlin was as he did when the boy was on the ground, he found himself anxious, and uneasy once again. He could not blame Hunith if she wanted nothing to do with him, though if she did indeed hate him, he had no idea what he would do.

He had no idea anyway. There was no question of his remaining in Ealdor. Had he not left for her benefit in the first place? Whatever she thought of him, he knew for certain that he did not want to put her in danger. He felt like a coward, but could see no way around it. Feeling that way was far preferable to knowing that he was endangering her and Merlin. However he looked at it, he feared that there was a separation waiting in the immediate future, and it left him feeling hollow, as though he had been punched in the stomach.

He had lived a while now without plans for the future, but the uncertainty in this case was even more frightening. Even the care he had shown Merlin these past days – what if he was getting the child used to eating well only for Hunith to struggle to feed him when he got home? He found himself concerned again by just how much of a featherweight the lad was, and slowed to look for a suitable place to stop off the trail. He needed to check Merlin's wounds. They had not been tended yet today. What was the matter with him?

That was when he became aware of it.

The deafening silence.

There was nothing – no birdsong, no rustling in the undergrowth. Nothing.

He halted, and looked around, threw out his magic in search of nearby presences.

Oh dear.

Forcing himself to maintain his composure, he readjusted Merlin, set his eyes forwards, and carried on walking, hoping that whoever was there, he and Merlin were of no interest.

A hope too far.

He stilled, his path blocked by a tall, broad man stepping onto the trail, armed with a battered but sharp sword, and an impressive array of scars. Distantly, Balinor found himself wondering if they were a requirement of the trade. There was no questioning the man's occupation, or his intentions.

Balinor cursed himself. He should have been more careful. Normally he was. Caution should have been the utmost thing on his mind. He had been too wrapped up in Merlin and his own thoughts to see the danger signs. The bandit drew his sword and levelled it at Balinor's chest.

The Dragonlord took a few steps back, holding Merlin to him tightly. At the cessation of his long, bobbing walk, Merlin had looked up from his sleepy stupor, and now trembled violently as he held fast to Balinor's coat and shoulder.

Balinor tried to pay him no heed, to keep his concerns and attention with the bandit in front of him, and the myriad others he sensed hiding back just out of sight among the trees. It was not easy. It felt as though Merlin was starting to cry.

"Well," the scarred man broke the heavy silence in a jovial tone, looking his prospective victims up and down, "what's this? A fine family outing?"

Balinor did not answer. He drew back, instinctively hunching his shoulders around Merlin, but sensed the others in the trees beginning to shift and close around him gradually. Slowly, as much as part of him screamed not to, he set Merlin on his feet, holding the crying boy at his front with gentle hands upon his shoulders. He lowered his head, staring at the scarred bandit in front of him with such vicious intensity that the man actually paused, unsure. It did not last. The bandit threw a glance at a spot in the trees to Balinor's right.

"Algrun."

A tall, middle aged man approached, sword drawn.

The scarred man gestured to Balinor with a lazy wave of two fingers. "Search him."

Algrun nodded to the scarred bandit, and started towards Balinor, purposeful in his movements.

Balinor backed away further, aware that he had nowhere to go, that the bandits had fully encircled himself and Merlin, and tested the circumference of the circle with his magic. His fingers clenched around Merlin's bony shoulders, pulling the boy with him.

He harboured no illusions about what being 'searched' would entail. It wasn't like he had anything valuable on him beyond the small amount of coins stashed within the inside pocket of his coat. He froze. And the gold chain he wore around his neck, on which hung his signet ring.

He clenched his teeth at the thought, and set his jaw. There was no way that he was going to give over the oldest, and likely only remaining heirloom of his line to bandits. The ring had belonged to Ambrosius himself; bore his crest of the small hunting bird, had been his personal mark and that of all Dragonlords of his line since. He would die before it was taken, as was most probably the bandits' intention anyway.

He switched his glare from the scarred man to Algrun, unconsciously rounding his shoulders to make himself appear bigger. It had little effect.

The ring lost all of its importance, however, as he caught the scarred man's hissed and angry instruction to Algrun:

"And shut that little brat up his wailing or we'll have Eldred's soldiers down on us before we can blink."

Merlin was crying. Loudly, Balinor realised. He gripped the boy's shoulders in a manner meant to be reassuring and backed up another step from the approaching bandit with teeth bared.

Merlin tried to turn around and huddle into him, a loud sob of fear punctuating the movement with painful clarity among all of the options and plans and simple blind hopelessness demanding as much space as possible in Balinor's mind.

Something snapped inside him at the sound – he felt it like the snap of bone. His grip on Merlin's shoulders tightened further, not to hurt, but to ensure that he and he alone held the boy's attention.

" _Merlin."_

That his charge heard his silent call was without doubt, a sense of readiness and fear rising from Merlin as his own silent acknowledgement.

" _You do as I say, boy. You understand?"_

Merlin nodded.

Algrun made to reach for Merlin, the jeering men around them encouraging him not to be squeamish. Balinor couldn't help the snarl that crawled from his throat, or the overly hard shove he gave to send Merlin towards the brambles to their right.

" _Run!"_

Merlin did as he was told, following the literal sense of direction Balinor gave him to fall onto his hands and knees and vanish underneath the thorns, away from the game trail.

Balinor did not watch after him, his hand flying to the grip of his sword as he hurled Alrgun backwards off his feet with a jerk of his head.

The next man was on him, steel clashing against his hastily drawn sword as another tried to take him from the left and the scarred man called out a warning of 'sorcerer!'

That was quite redundant, Balinor thought as he flung a hand out sideways to throw his sneak-attacker backwards against a tree with a sickening crunch. If they needed warning of his nature after witnessing it first hand then they were sorely ill-equipped to look after themselves, let alone make a living from banditry.

He took steps to the side, able to get a look around and see that there were four men still standing of the original six. One at a time. Face them one at a time if he could.

He moved again, aware that the whole damn lot of them were trying to work out how to approach him without being flung back – and lowered his head.

"Belége.*"

The golden flash of his irises gave the bandits pause, shouts of surprise and anger echoing among them at the bright flare of flame and the ring of fire that roared to life to encircle Balinor and the man he faced, out of their reach.

Far from feeling cowed at being fenced in, the bandit rushed forward to attack. Balinor engaged him with his sword, fending him off with difficulty as he felt a tentative and worried mental brush.

" _Keep going, Merlin,"_ he assured the child, drawing back from a wide strike that he could lunge forward with one of his own and slice his foe across the belly, plunging the sword through the man's gut in a final stroke, _"don't stop running. I'll find you."_

He jerked his blade free, leaving the bandit to fall to the ground in a heap. Swords these men may have, and confidence enough to use them, but the training to wield them effectively against one with experience, they did not.

Leaving his enemy to slump to the ground, Balinor raised his head to observe those who remained. Three. Half their original number. Despite that, the scarred man clearly had no intention of retreating and was attempting to beat out the flames with his cloak. To no avail.

Balinor sheathed his sword, and cleared his throat. He half-considered changing them into something else, or simply using that spell he knew that could make a person break down in uncontrollable tears. He fully considered leaving them, and the flames and putting distance between himself and them, when the scarred man turned to one of the two remaining bandits and instructed him to 'fetch Kanen and the others'.

Whoever Kanen was, the sound of 'others' was not appealing. One lone Dragonlord against a full gang of bandits was only going to end in disaster.

Balinor dropped his chin to his chest, and took one, two, three deep breaths. The ancient power welled up inside him, rushing to his call and the air filling his lungs.

The flames died away, the scarred man casting aside his cloak and rushing to attack, sword raised. Balinor paid him no heed, throwing his head back and opening his mouth to roar to the skies.

The bandits halted, staring in terror and awe at the deep, echoing and extremely loud call of a fully-fledged Dragonlord. It was a sound that echoed far beyond the trees to reverberate around the distant mountains and send birds flying from their roosts in the canopy.

Deep below the foundations of Camelot's citadel, the last dragon raised his head and shifted, clacking his jaws as a juvenile would do, at the pain and sadness that rose from being powerless to respond to it.

The scarred man shifted, part enthralled, but mainly terrified. If he feared Eldred's men, and that the tears and sniffling of a frightened child would bring them down on him, then that certainly would.

The euphoria of feeling his power run free after so long buried sent adrenaline racing through Balinor's system. He took up his sword once more and met the scarred man with a vicious clash of steel.

This one was better trained than his colleagues, and managed to push Balinor back several steps in retreat. Diligently trained he may be, but Balinor was the first to acknowledge that he had never been completely steady on his feet. He almost met the edge of the bandit's blade across his ribs, stumbling aside barely in time to miss it. He used the opportunity it offered to employ a feint, swing around to grip the man's shoulder and run him through.

With a wet croak, the scarred man grimaced up at him, and slid backwards off his blade to slump to the ground. Without hesitation Balinor brought his sword up in both hands, ready to face the remaining bandit who had not followed his colleague to go for help, but still stood and stared, awestruck.

He seemed to snap out of it, realising that _he_ was the next target and dropped his sword, turned tail, and ran for his life.

Quietly relieved, Balinor let him go, and sheathed his sword at his hip without thinking to clean it. No such thought occurred to him as he bolted across the game trail and crashed through the bramble bush Merlin had crawled away under. Any scratches he sustained, he would deal with later. Right now they were the last thing on his mind.

In a matter of moments he found himself breaking through the thick ferns and bushes onto the road from Essetir. He halted and looked around, unable to see any immediate sign of Merlin. His gut twisted with nerves. He closed his eyes and threw out his senses in search of the child. His nerves grew worse. He couldn't find him.

" _Merlin?"_ he tried, aware of the desperation and the frightened shake in his silent voice. _"Merlin!?"_

Nothing.

"Oh Gods." Raking a hand up into his hair, Balinor looked around again, wishing he had the gift of far sight as some sorcerers did to see the paths that Merlin could have taken. It was not so. Gathering himself, making a valiant effort to be calm, Balinor took a deep breath and turned his eyes on the ground, placing his faith in his tracking skills. A few moments later he happened upon a disturbance in the short grass at the side of the road. His nerves released some, small footprints visible in the mud that matched the soles of Merlin's flimsy little boots.

He followed them onto the road, and away a few steps to an area just below the tall trunk of an ash tree. Balinor's breath caught in his throat. His blood froze.

There Merlin's footprints ended, mashed up and lost beneath those of a heavy horse. There were none but those of the horse after that.

" _No..."_

He did not think, overtaken by blind panic as he took a couple of steps forwards and broke into a run, eyes down, following the hoof prints.

It was a trip of a few leagues, he told himself. That was all. Why – how – had all this managed to happen in such a short distance?! More than the incredulity, he worried for Merlin. Who had him now? What were they going to do with him? Was he alright?

That last question tore at him. What did he do if Merlin was not? The thought of anything happening to the boy terrified him.

Depending on who had Merlin, what did he do towards getting him back once he found them?

If only he still had Kilgarrah. All this could have been avoided. None of it would have happened in the first. Merlin would be safely home with Hunith, or failing that, it would be more than easy to run down a galloping horse on dragonback, and to deal with whoever took the child captive this time.

Balinor snarled, his jaw working in his rage. And deal with them he would. Dragon at his disposal, or no.

* * *

*Belége – surround with flame


	7. Seven

Πέρασμα των πορειών

* * *

Seven

The horse's trail veered from the path about a half mile ahead, turning Westward back into to the trees. Back towards Camelot. Momentarily that thought worried Balinor, but he brushed it aside to be drowned by his blind fury once more. If he had to cross the border then he would in order to get Merlin back. To prevent Uther from getting his hands on the boy. If that brought the attention of Camelot's knights down on him then so be it. He would just have to get Hunith from Ealdor and run, find her and Merlin somewhere safe that they could settle before moving on himself. Across the sea would be safe. Out West. His father's family was there – an aunt, or a second cousin or someone who Uther did not know about specifically. His family would certainly shelter Merlin, though he remained staunch in his resolution never to burden them with himself. He did not know them, what few of them remained, and a full-fledged Dragonlord was too much of a danger. People spoke, and would certainly do so if a man, so obviously his father's son were to appear in their midst. Coin tantalised, and word could travel. It was not safe.

How long he had run, he could not be sure, but the trees ahead thinned, and the sound of voices could be heard. Balinor slowed to a walk, throwing out his senses to investigate the woods around him. There did not appear to be anybody on this side of the trees, so he slowed further, and approached as silently as he could to kneel out of sight and brush aside the leaves of the bushes to peer through, and watch.

Beyond was a clearing containing a camp. Several haphazard tents made from hide stood dotted about, one slightly larger one adorned above the entrance by a yellowed buck's skull crowned with impressive antlers. A large group of horses stood tethered to the trees not far from him, most of them with their heads down and lips wibbling, half asleep and flicking flies in the muggy afternoon warmth. Men moved about the camp, engaged in various tasks, those not moving simply lounging. Beside the cooking fire at the very centre stood a group of them, one of which dressed in black furs and chainmail, wearing what looked to be a badger skin around his shoulders listened with concern and sympathy to the kneeling bandit who had fled the earlier skirmish, while the others looked on.

"There was nothing I could do! Algrun, Geffen, the others – all dead!" The kneeling man all but shrieked. "I had to run. He would have killed me!"

"One man?" The question was a loaded one, but the cowering bandit did not recognise it.

"He's not a man. You hear it? That sound? Like all the monsters of Annwn descending at once. You must have heard it! The whole world must have!"

Another man stepped from the gathered, his large arms folded over his chest, a heavy bruise down one side of his face. A man that set a deep, vicious growl humming at the back of Balinor's throat, that caused his hands to clench into tight, trembling fists. "We heard it," Halig told him flatly. "Would have been heard for leagues around. Was the roar of a Dragonlord."

Balinor drew a sharp, angry breath through his nose, his shoulders shuddering with the force of it.

"I thought that Uther killed them all," the bandit in furs stated, an edge of uncertainty to his tone and an interested frown on his face. There was intent in his eye, the one beneath his crude eye patch over the fresh scar upon his cheek and forehead likely mirroring it, should it remain. Halig turned away,

"All but one." The small smirk on the bounty hunter's face prickled at Balinor, pushing him beyond boiling point. He could practically see him counting up the bounty for the last Dragonlord in his head. Whether or not it still stood, Balinor could not say, but he had been worth a fair sum before he left Ealdor. More than the other sorcerers Halig could bring in for a start, except for maybe Nimueh, but there was absolutely no way he would be able to capture her.

The part of him that was dragon laughed at the very notion of Halig's being able to capture him, either. The nobility and pride that came from more than simply his family name, that pronounced himself to be bigger game than Halig could hunt and certainly handle. It was not a Dragonlord's birth that made him nobility. It was his nature. He would never get the chance to collect the bounty. Balinor knew that he would never let himself be taken alive, and he doubted that Uther would cough up for his corpse. The King always had been a tight get. Hard to weedle money out of for the purposes of borrowing, or on loss of a bet. Money he classed as his own, and not the Kingdom's. It was not the sorcerer he paid for when a bounty was paid. It was the chance to see them killed – to satisfy himself that he was avenging Ygraine. He had become as deluded as his lies in that.

"Still," the bandit in furs turned back to the man kneeling on the ground before him, "he is just one man. He has no dragon to back him up."

"He has magic, Kanen," the bandit insisted, desperation creeping into his voice. "Powerful magic. I could not win. You understand?"

Kanen nodded his head. "I understand," he drew his sword and drove it through the man's chest. "I understand that you are a waste of space."

He turned from his kill, wiping his sword down on his sleeve as he went and indicated to the body with a jerk of his head. "Toss that in the woods, and let it be known" he raised his voice to address the others in the camp "- that cowardice will not be tolerated! These are OUR woods! WE say what goes on here! Now get back to work. We move East before nightfall."

Balinor glanced about, noting that aside from the men moving to dispose of the body, many of the others were indeed in the process of dismantling the camp.

So, he found himself thinking a little smugly, these were Kanen's woods? He dictated what went on there, until Eldred's men were in the area, when he would up sticks and bugger off elsewhere? He folded his arms atop his bent knee where he crouched out of view, and chuckled to himself somewhat maliciously. Kanen was full of hot air. He had however joined forces with Halig by the looks of things, no doubt in hopes of a share of the bounty that Uther would pay for Merlin, or with the intention of killing Halig and taking the bounty for himself. The thought set his lips in a thin line, his brow knitting in a frown. Would they try for the bounty on _him_ also, he wondered? It was more than enough to tempt them. He huffed an almost silent, humourless laugh. Let. Them. Try.

The tent on the far side of the camp began to come down, the skull hitting the ground with a loud thump and a curse from the man responsible. It was not the debacle around the tent, but what was beyond it that seized Balinor's attention. Halig's cage stood near the trees ringing the other side of the camp, the heavy-boned horse that pulled it tethered loosely and grazing nearby. Inside the cage, huddled up as small and invisible as he could make himself, was Merlin.

Balinor felt a rush of relief, like a drink of cool water after a long, hot drought, his anger washing out of him. Careful that he was not seen, he rocked forwards onto his knees and peered over the bushes.

" _Merlin."_

The boy looked up, blinking away his tears to scan the camp. Balinor felt the questioning, desperate brush against his magic, and reached out to answer him in kind, the feeling soothing, as though they had taken one another's hands.

Immediately Merlin's eyes fell on the bushes where Balinor hid, the sight of his guardian drew the child to crawl forward and kneel up to grip the bars of the cage and stare back with watery eyes. The sight would have been heartbreaking, could Balinor not sense the relief and joy Merlin felt at seeing him.

He instructed Merlin to stay quiet, and ducked down below the bushes to make his way around the outside of the clearing.

Merlin followed his movements, unable to see him, but able to sense his presence. He continued to watch, Balinor appearing briefly between the trees amongst the horses, movements all caution as he drew his knife from his belt and paused to watch the men in the clearing a moment, before speaking low words to the sleepy animals, eyes glowing, and proceeding to cut one of the ropes tethering them.

For what seemed painfully long moments he moved among the docile beasts, sawing at the tethers with his knife. Whatever he had said to them, whatever magic he had cast held them in place, unaware of their freedom. He halted every now and again to check on the camp, and the men therein, before returning to work. Then he was back in the trees again, moving steadily around towards the cage. His sense of urgency and worry about being discovered was interrupted by a jumble of feelings that Merlin could not decipher properly, before he appeared again briefly between the trees and tall bracken, wiping his sword down to sheathe it and vanish from sight amongst the fronds.

Then he was behind the cage, stepping cautiously through the undergrowth to right outside it.

Merlin practically flung himself at the back of the cage to reach through the bars for Balinor. The man took his hands, squeezing his tiny fingers gently, relief painted all over his kind face. "Alright, Merlin," he soothed quietly, the little one starting to sniffle and cry from both relief and frustration that he could not get any closer to Balinor, "I'll get you out in a moment. Be strong a little longer for me, hm?"

Merlin nodded, whimpering when Balinor released his fingers and very cautiously began to skirt around the cage, towards Halig's horse.

Despite its owner, it looked a calm and gentle beast. It raised its head at Balinor's approach, and poked its nose at him, lipping his fingers gently. Balinor stroked its cheek, sure that it was not headshy, nor going to object when he took hold of its head and held it still that he could look it dead in the eyes.

"Friþhengist. Hlystan æt mec.*"

The horse wuffled gently, and dipped its head that it seemed almost sleepy. Balinor gestured to it to stay put with one hand, and drew his knife to cut its tether and throw the trailing end over its neck. He would not need to release it from the cage. It was saddled. Halig had likely used it to retrieve Merlin... must have been looking for him along the forest paths.

He turned, and made his way back to the cage, inching his way to the door.

"You!"

Balinor spun clumsily on one foot, drawing his sword as he went to find Halig stalking towards him, holding his own blade. The bounty hunter was seething, that much was apparent in the set of his shoulders, the predatory quality of his walk and the deadly set of his face. Balinor could not help but feel a bolt of intimidation. Halig didn't halt, bringing his sword up and around to clash with Balinor's where the young Dragonlord defended himself, almost knocking it from Balinor's hand with the force.

"Come to steal what's mine again!?"

"He is _not_ yours!" Balinor all but roared back, parrying another blow, knocked back a step by the sheer strength of it. Halig was much, much bigger than him.

"But he is yours!?"

Balinor lowered his head, his nostrils flaring with the stuttering growl in his breath, but did not say a word. He was not given the chance. Halig came at him again, sensing his distraction. It was all he could do to keep from being killed, to parry and look for an opening to strike back or use his magic as Halig clashed against his sword over and over again. The bounty hunter had some skill, but it was his strength, and his rage that made him dangerous.

In the cage, Merlin was utterly terrified. Balinor could hear his desperate sobs, wanted so much to comfort him but Halig, along with Kanen and the others converging on him demanded his attention foremost.

The bandits and their leader did not join the bounty hunter's effort, but halted just shy of the fight to watch.

Balinor saw an opportunity and took it, dodging aside a wide strike from Halig, gashing the man's thigh as he went and booting him hard in the side to knock him to the ground. The bounty hunter went down with a thump, slow to recover as Balinor turned his sword in his hands to bring down in a deadly strike to his enemy's gut.

Something connected with Balinor's cheek with a whack, the sting reverberating through his teeth and jerking his head to the side. Another hard object hit his knee, another his side, force blunted by the thick hide of his coat. He brought an arm up defensively, finding that some of the bandits were throwing rocks at him, jeering and laughing at his reactions as though they watched a pit fight. Taken aback, he muttered under his breath and conjured a barrier to halt the onslaught.

Their interference afforded Halig time to get up and retrieve his sword, the bounty hunter hurling a look of death at the gathered men, his irate bark of "enough! He's mine!" halting their attack. Grunting, he lunged forward onto his uninjured leg and engaged Balinor once more.

The gash in his other leg seemed less than bothersome. Halig hit Balinor a particularly strong blow, a satisfied grin breaking over his bruised face momentarily at the cry of pain Balinor gave, the force of the strike snapping his wrist back with an audible crunch that cast the Dragonlord's sword spinning to bounce off the wheel of the cage, sent the smaller man stumbling back towards the trees.

The bounty hunter stalked after him, grinding his teeth as the grin faded from his lips. "Should hand you over to Uther as well," he snapped, "you're worth more than a King's ransom. He'd probably pay double should I ask for it. Can see why he'd be so desperate to see you executed – going on how much of nuisance you are!"

Balinor hit the ground under a vicious boot to his side, gasping air, a deep ache in his arm after holding off Halig's attacks and the painful throbbing in his wrist. He looked up to find the Bounty hunter standing over him, glaring down at him, thick fingers twitching around the grip of his sword.

"Willing to bet even a Dragonlord's magic is no match for cold iron," Halig ground out, low and deadly. "Should put it to the test. You got no dragon coming to protect you. What are you going to do?"

Halig went flying, thrown backwards off his feet to land on the grass away from Balinor, his sword hitting the ground at Kanen's feet.

Panting, Balinor blinked. He'd pulled his magic to him ready, the word _ácwele*_ on his lips, but not uttered it. He looked up over his shoulder, at the cage. Merlin knelt by the bars, trembling, his eyes fading from gold to blue. He looked frightened, as though he had done something wrong.

Balinor didn't have time to reassure him, pushing himself to his feet and reaching for his sword where it lay nearby to heft it with a pained grimace as Kanen approached, his own drawn. Balinor prepared to meet him, interrupted before he could by the first battle cry ringing through the trees.

Eldred's men crashed through the bushes into the clearing, cutting down the first unprepared bandits as they overran the camp.

Kanen left Balinor be, calling out as he turned.

"RETREAT! Into the woods!"

The bandits made for the horses only to find the animals fleeing into the trees from the invading, shouting soldiers at the gallop.

Balinor smirked through the pain at the sight, pulled himself away from it and ran to the cage.

Merlin met him at the door, dismayed when Balinor rattled it and found it locked. Not surprised, but still annoyed, he shouted to Merlin to get back, and with his magic, ripped the whole door from its hinges in a shower of sparks, throwing it clean across the clearing to crash into the bushes behind him.

He reached for Merlin, stilled by the boy's frightened scream to look to his right and see Halig charging towards him, battered and bruised and bellowing his war cry at the top of his lungs with sword clutched above his head.

Balinor made to reach for his own, unnecessarily as an Essetir soldier stepped between them, and ran the bounty hunter through under the man's own momentum.

Halig dropped his sword with a gurgle, the blade sticking into the ground behind him, and collapsed to his knees.

The soldier drew his blade back and let Halig fall. He turned to Balinor, who raised his sword defensively, pain clear on his face under the weight of it. The soldier did not say anything, and did not move to attack.

Balinor hesitated a moment, drew his magic to him, and sheathed his sword. His eyes never leaving the soldier, he reached for Merlin, the boy unable but to stare at Halig's dead body.

With a gentle, silent prod from Balinor, he went to him, and held on around his neck as he was lifted down from the cage with a pained grunt. Once on the ground, Balinor took Merlin's hand and began sidling slowly towards Halig's horse, his eyes never leaving those of Eldred's man.

The soldier moved then. Not towards them, but away to run off into the fray and join his fellows in driving out Kanen and his men.

Not intent on questioning the blessing, Balinor pulled himself up onto the horse one-handed, and reached down to pull Merlin up in front of him.

They left the battle behind at a gallop, racing through the trees to put as much distance between it and themselves as possible.

* * *

*Friþhengist. Hlystan æt mec – Horse. Listen to me.

*ácwele - Kill. Destroy _  
_

Balinor's cheeky/creepy smirk: Link on my profile. Copy and paste it as links don't work any more :(


	8. Eight

Πέρασμα των πορειών

* * *

Eight

Merlin had not fared well in Halig's custody a second time. Even for such a small while. He was terrified, and unable to settle. Riding away from the remains of Kanen's camp, after Balinor deemed it safe to slow from the blistering pace he had set through the trees, Merlin did not sit astride the horse. He sat across the front of the saddle, which had to be uncomfortable, curled in against Balinor, tucked to his chest. He refused to change position. He wanted to be as close to his guardian as possible. The Dragonlord understood that, and focused his energies between making sure that the boy did not fall from the saddle, and looking for somewhere that was safe to stop.

He rode with one arm around Merlin, clutching the reins around his fingers whilst rubbing the boy's arm with the back of it thoughtlessly. The other he kept tucked tight across his stomach, grimacing every time Merlin knocked it as he moved with the horse's choppy walk. He did not care. Losing Merlin, even for only a short while, had shaken him to his core. He had never been so afraid in his life; utterly frantic, ready to end anything that stood in his way. Until he had seen Merlin in that cage. He had been overcome with relief that the child was alright, and that he knew where he was.

Unconsciously, he dipped his head that his chin could rest atop Merlin's hair, and breathed a deep sigh. Merlin clung tighter in response, a small sigh of his own escaping him as he nestled his head against Balinor's chest, listening to his heartbeat. He did not drift off to sleep as he normally would, but blinked at the passing forest with glazed eyes.

Balinor noted it, and it left him unsettled.

* * *

They could have easily made it to Ealdor that night. The village was just through the woods, but Balinor elected to stop instead. Evening was on its way, night closing in faster and faster with the drawing on of autumn. If he was to fulfil his promise to Merlin, then it would be best to wait until daylight. Accosting Simmons at this time would seem like an attack, rather than the delivery of a stern talking to. That seemed a better way to think of it than the issue of a series of thinly veiled threats.

He had not yet had a chance to look Merlin over and make sure that he was unharmed. He did not want to deliver Merlin to Hunith injured and mute. However, before he did anything else, he must tend to himself. He was no good to man or beast one-handed.

They stopped for the night in a dip he knew about a mile from Ealdor. Until recently it seemed that badgers had frequented it. Their sett was dry and empty, and the ground undisturbed, with a little stream running by just beyond the brambles. He could sense nobody around, so carefully slid from the horse, holding in a pained swear, and reached up to wrap his good arm around Merlin and lift him down. He tethered the horse to a nearby hazel, foregoing unsaddling it for the moment, in favour of slipping his knapsack from his shoulders, and very carefully easing out of his over coat.

Merlin did not offer to help, or speak at all, sitting down in the leaf mould in a heap, and wrapping the Dragonlord's heavy coat around his shoulders when it was finally discarded. He blinked up at Balinor when the man gasped in pain, and knelt down to sit nearby, clutching his wrist in front of him tightly.

It did not seem broken. Balinor had been lucky enough never to have broken a bone – it was not an easy thing to do, for a people built to fall from heights – despite his own best efforts over the years, but soft tissue was another matter. He had endured sprains before, and that was what this felt like, though never this bad. Something must have torn badly. He sat back, stretching out one leg to hook around the strap of his knapsack and draw it to him, and crossed his legs beneath himself. Carefully, he rolled up the sleeve of his injured arm to look over his wrist properly. In the time since the fight, it had already begun to swell.

He reached into his knapsack, and pulled out his waterskin, and a square of cloth, which he doused in the water, and wrapped about his wrist. He tried not to focus on the throbbing and the ache that movement brought, and closed his eyes to draw his magic to himself, focusing on his injury.

"Forspedé þa gehælednes. Ic ácwice þe.*"

The glow of magic behind his eyes was a warm relief in itself. An old friend that never failed to bring him comfort with its ever presence deep within him. He felt shifting inside his wrist, but it did not hurt, only felt warm, as though dipped in a basin of lightly warmed water. Gaius had shown him the insides of an arm once. He had acquired a severed one from somewhere, and had cut it open for the benefit of his science. The ligaments must be responding to the magic as it healed them.

He breathed out a light sigh, and swallowed as the burning and throbbing pain reduced down to a light ache and stiffness that would be inconvenient, but not agonising. He would be able to use it, which was the important thing. The magic faded, he turned his wrist over and wriggled his fingers, aware of light tightness, but that was all. To be safe, he removed the cloth, and dried the skin that he could bandage it and reduce his range of movement. While magic could speed the process, it could not always fix absolutely everything.

Merlin watched him, taking in everything that he did with an expressionless face. He remained sitting where he had put himself, but followed Balinor's movements as his guardian stood and began the process of collecting wood and water, and unsaddling the horse.

Once he had set out the bedroll for Merlin, Balinor settled down to prepare supper, slicing up the vegetables and salted rabbit meat from his knapsack, and setting to gathering whatever herbs he could find from the immediate woods.

Merlin continued to watch the whole time, but still said nothing. Neither of them spoke, leaving a heavy silence in the air.

Once the stew was simmering nicely, Balinor went to the stream and refilled his waterskin. From his knapsack he took more fresh bandages, and the little clay mug that Merlin had been using.

Merlin sat quiet while Balinor removed his coat and fur, and did not protest when he removed his neckerchief. Balinor made to hand the garment back to him, only for Merlin to shake his head gently and push the neckerchief back into his hands to be laid aside with his coat and fur.

Balinor held onto the neckerchief a moment, touched deeply by the gesture. This was the boy's most special thing. Allowing him to place it out of reach spoke volumes.

Merlin trusted him absolutely.

Grateful, he palmed Merlin's cheek affectionately, brushing a gentle thumb over the soreness there, frowning to see it was a very shallow abrasion. He laid the neckerchief aside almost as reverently as Merlin had done only a couple of days prior, and returned his attention to Merlin's injuries.

All in all, aside from a couple of cuts and scrapes, Merlin was well enough. His scalp was sensitive Balinor realised after ruffling his hair. Halig must have pulled him by it. Bastard.

Balinor exhaled his anger in a steady breath. Halig was no longer a problem, thanks to that soldier of Eldred's. That silent exchange still puzzled him, but he felt it a bad idea to look a gift horse in the mouth in regards to it, and let it lie. He redressed Merlin's wrists, glad to find that they were healing nicely and had not been broken open or made worse by Halig's treatment of him.

The remaining water from the skin, he poured into Merlin's mug for the boy to drink, and onto the cloth he had used on his wrist to wash Merlin's face, neck and hands, though he ensured to save a last little amount in the bottom of his own cup. That done, he turned his attentions to himself once more, and the herbs he had garnered.

While he lacked the proper equipment for it, a pair of stones crushed and ground the leaves well enough. He placed them in his cup and used his finger to stir them well with the water. It did not take long for the mixture to turn a deep green. Balinor cupped his hands around the mug, and held it out before him beseechingly, his head bowed and his eyes closed.

"Sweðe in hléwþ.*"

Gentle steam began to rise from the liquid. Balinor looked inside the cup, took a steadying breath, and downed the pain draught in one. The taste was foul and made him gag, but he kept it down, knowing that he would be glad of it in a little while. He would make some more in the morning.

With nothing else to be done while they waited for the stew to cook, Balinor laid his cup aside and went to his knapsack again to withdraw the partially carved pony, and took up his knife to whittle. By the time supper was ready, he had only to put the finishing touches to the carving.

Merlin watched him dish up, and as they ate was acutely aware of it when Balinor managed less than a quarter of his bowl before laying it aside.

That Merlin watched him questioningly, Balinor was aware of. He scrubbed his hands back over his face and forced a tired smile. "M'not hungry, Merlin," he explained gently before encouraging him to finish his own bowl.

Merlin did as he was told, never taking his eyes off Balinor as the man rose and prepared for bed.

* * *

When it came time to sleep, and Balinor finally finished scraping together a nest for himself, he felt totally drained. It was not particularly late, the moon just beginning to rise, but it would do them both good to get an early night.

Having put Merlin down in the bedroll, Balinor laid himself down in his nest and curled up on his side, drawing his coat over himself for warmth.

He felt guilty. For letting Halig get his hands on Merlin again. He had sworn to himself that he would protect the boy. Now he had made himself a liar. While Merlin didn't seem to hold him responsible, Balinor did himself. He could not help it, and beating himself up over it seemed wholly deserved and reasonable as far as he was concerned.

Unhappy, he squeezed his eyes shut and shrugged his coat up to his jaw.

Merlin should not have had to suffer any of this. He should have been home with Hunith, where he would have been safe. He should have been without magic, without reason to fear and be feared and hated by small-minded fools like Simmons, and hypocrites like Uther Pen-bloody-dragon.

No. Balinor chastised himself. Merlin _should_ have magic. The power and potential he had was special, like the lad himself, and should be celebrated. He should be free to play with, and learn about the wonders he could perform without fear of chastisement, or capture, or death.

He understood. He really did, but the fact of it forced him to confront a deeply unsettling feeling that gnawed at him with needling little teeth. Hunith had taught Merlin that he should keep his magic hidden. The boy thought that he had done wrong when he used it in front of others, whoever they may be, and a part of him hated her for it.

The very thought made him sick with himself, because it was wholly uncalled for. Magic like Merlin's was a rare gift, but also a deadly threat to his life in the current climate. It _had_ to be kept secret, for Merlin's own good, just as he _had_ to keep his own quiet for the very same reasons. He loved Hunith for instilling that caution in Merlin just as much as he loathed her for it. He was confused, and it hurt. To have any animosity towards her killed him inside.

He swallowed thickly, and sniffed, shrugging his shoulder up to swipe past his cheek. He would not cry about it. Why should he? It was Merlin who was affected – and there was his answer.

He really was an idiot.

Rustling in the bedroll caught his attention. Merlin shifting, he imagined. The sound of little footsteps in the leaf mould drew him to look up and find Merlin standing over him, clutching his blanket and looking back at him worriedly.

Balinor blinked at him, about to ask him if he was alright when Merlin got down and shifted his coat aside that he could crawl into the nest with him and curl up in the hollow of his stomach. Balinor shifted back to give him some more room, and put and arm around him, cuddling the little boy close.

Merlin snuggled back against him, resting his cheek against Balinor's other arm where it passed under his neck. He tried to spread his blanket out over them both, unable as he was too small to manoeuver the thing properly.

"Here," Balinor propped himself up on his elbow and took the blanket from Merlin to ensure that it covered them both, and threw off his coat that they wouldn't get too hot.

He moved to lie down, finding Merlin looking up at him with a silent question. Balinor nodded, and held out his hand.

The small globe of white light appeared in his palm. Gently, he tossed it upwards that it would float in the air, not in the least surprised when it drifted down to settle atop the blanket next to Merlin's face and reduce to a gentle glow. The boy reached out and closed his hand on the top of it that he held it, and closed his eyes.

Balinor settled back down and curled up again that he was comfortable, accommodating Merlin however the child decided to sleep, and tucked his arm behind his head, closing his eyes and exhaling a deep breath.

"G'night," Merlin's little voice told him, flooding him with relief. The boy had not been frightened into silence after all.

"Goodnight, Merlin."

"Love you."

Balinor stilled, looking down at the top of Merlin head resting against his chest, and swallowed the lump in his throat. "Love you too, boy."

Merlin didn't hear, already drawing the deep, steady breaths of sleep.

Balinor looked at him, his throat constricting again as he brushed one of Merlin's unruly curls behind his already over large ear.

"Beslæp in liss, mín bearn. Helpendlio fram feor.*" he murmured softly, knowing that his eyes glowed as Merlin sighed deeply and fell into a sound, restful sleep. He would sleep well, and dream peacefully.

Balinor settled his cheek against his arm and closed his eyes, slowly drifting off himself.

* * *

Something woke him. Balinor opened his eyes, but remained still, able to see a dark figure moving about the other side of the small camp. A man, most definitely, dressed in maille, the links jingling lightly against one another as he moved, reflecting in the dying light of the fire's embers. A soldier, maybe? That did not bode well, though he did not wear the colours of Camelot. His were the yellow, and the red and white shield of Essetir. Another of Eldred's men.

The interloper stopped to stroke the horse where it dozed, quiet in his treatment of it as it poked its nose at him in search of treats.

Slowly, Balinor moved his arm from around Merlin, to reach behind to the back of the nest and his sword belt where it rested just outside the ferns and moss.

Merlin stirred. Balinor silently shushed him, indicating the figure in their camp in the same manner. The little boy went still, staring across at the intruder with wide eyes.

Done with the horse, the soldier turned to Balinor and Merlin, and started towards them in a cautious, near silent walk.

Balinor did not give him the chance to get any closer, rising in a jerky movement and bringing his sword up with him in a flick to unsheathe it that it was ready in his hands by the time he stood facing his foe.

To his surprise, the soldier held up his hands, his own sword still sheathed at his hip.

"Balinor."

Balinor paused, Merlin gripping his shin tightly as the soldier raised his hands further, to either side of his helmet that he could lift it off his head and shake out his unruly light brown curls.

"Sam!" Merlin was up off the ground and across the short distance between the nest and the man to be swept up in his arms and sat on his hip.

"Hello, Merlin."

Balinor dropped his sword, staring at the man in front of him in disbelief. "Sam?"

With a grin, Sam nodded his head. "It's been a long time, Bal."

Indeed it had. Almost five years. Five years since Balinor had fled Ealdor. Fled, because Sam had informed the Camelot patrol that he was there.

That information in mind, Balinor lowered his head, bristling at the sight of him holding Merlin. "What do you want here?" he demanded, voice low, and dangerous.

Sam's grin fell away. He held up a placating hand. "No trouble, I promise. Just looking for Merlin."

"I'm taking him back to Hunith," Balinor all but grunted in reply.

Sam nodded. "Which is why I'm out here. Like I said, searching for him." He looked at Merlin, relief clear in his face to see him safe and well. "I've been looking for him since Simmons turned him over to that bounty hunter, Halig."

Balinor shifted. "He won't be causing any more trouble. I assume that was your doing?"

"Yeah. I joined the patrol to go after him. Officially we were following reports of raiders in the area, but it was the best chance to travel the main roads with back up. I saw you in Merendra. When I saw you had Merlin, I knew he'd be alright."

"Hm," Balinor grunted again, "you knew that he would be safe with a criminal like me?"

"Balinor," Sam shook his head. "I'm sorry for what I did. At the time I thought it to be the right thing – the safest thing for Ealdor."

"You know what they say about good intentions."

"I had Maria and William to consider. I didn't realise."

"What?" The suspicion on Balinor's face was unsettling. Sam met his eyes, not about to back down.

"What you are." Uncomfortable beneath Balinor's sustained glare, he shifted. "You know how sheltered Ealdor is. Everything's black and white. There are no shades of grey. You were a fugitive. I thought you had done something wrong, and Uther and Eldred clashing would put the village in danger. When you'd gone, and Hunith found out I was responsible, she told me why you were running. I'm sorry, Bal. I didn't know."

Balinor said nothing, his gaze firmly on the ground as he considered Sam's words. For what he had done wrong, Sam had been idealistic and naive. For all that had happened because of it, Balinor had counted the man as a good friend. He had taught Sam to wield a sword, given him the training he needed to join Essetir's army. For all that naivety was a great failing, Balinor could not pretend that he never laid claim to it. What he had done had deprived another of their liberty, just as Sam had. This man was trying to make amends. At last, he looked up to meet Sam's anxious eyes. "... she hit you?"

Sam nodded. "Hard."

"Good." Balinor held out his arms for Merlin, Sam closing the space between himself and his old friend as Merlin reached back.

He watched Balinor settle Merlin on his hip, the way in which Merlin clung to the man and buried his face in his shoulder. "I should have kept well out of it," he sighed at last, "Things would have been easier for Hunith, and for Merlin if I had. He wouldn't have had such a difficult time being..." he trailed off, looking up abruptly as Balinor looked straight at him and completed the sentence in a flat tone:

"like me."

Sam nodded. "We all know now. It's pretty difficult to be ignorant after the song and dance Simmons made handing him over to Halig. Nobody agreed with what he did."

"And yet nobody stopped it." Balinor brushed a hand back over Merlin's hair, the boy lifting his head to look at him before laying his cheek down again and closing his eyes, his thumb in his mouth. A shadow passed over Balinor's expression, what he had said not entirely true. "How is she?"

Sam heaved a sigh and rubbed a hand over his face. "When I left? Heartbroken. Hunith loves Merlin more than anything. Maria was with her."

Balinor squeezed his eyes shut, hollow at the thought of Hunith heartbroken. "Tomorrow he goes home."

"And what about you?"

"What do you mean?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Are you coming home as well tomorrow? Or just Merlin?"

"I can't stay, Sam." At that Merlin's arms tightened around his neck. Balinor reflexively rubbed his back.

"Then you are a massive idiot," Sam told him outright, and gestured to Merlin, "you think that child is going to be happy to see you walk away? Are you going to be happy?"

"No, but-"

"You are so bloody stubborn, Balinor! You were, and you still are. Get your head out of your arse and listen to yourself!"

Merlin giggled at the word 'arse', and hid his face in Balinor's shoulder. Sam did not notice and carried on,

"I made a mess of things for the three of you back when, and now you're continuing my fine work. Be a man, wise up, and sort out your family! Comfort your damn woman!"

"What about Uther's men?"

Sam gave an deep shrug, his movements becoming exaggerated, as they always did when he was agitated. "What men? The ones who haven't been back to Ealdor for four years? That Eldred has us on constant watch for? Engage your brain. What is more important? Merlin's had it hard. He's going to have it even harder now, if Simmons even allows him back into the village. You know how much sway he holds." He scruffed a hand through his hair, in full flow as he waved a hand at Balinor without any care, "I assume that was you making that horrendous din earlier? The one that led us right to Kanen and his men?"

Balinor did not confirm it, nor did he refute it. Sam nodded to himself. "Thought so. A roar it may be, but it still smacked of a thick twat too afraid to break his self-imposed status quo. You know, I always thought you were a bit odd. In a good way. Knowing that you have a bellow like that on you, and that you kip in a nest, I can't help finding both of those things more usual than somebody so intent on sabotaging their own happiness. Do what you know you want to."

"What if I-"

"Don't you even try and say you don't want to come back. You're holding onto that child for dear life and simply mentioning Hunith's name mists you over."

Balinor hesitated, and closed his eyes, aware that Sam was right. "I'll think about it," he replied after a moment, his throat bobbing as he looked at Merlin resting in his arms.

Sam nodded sagely, having decided the whole thing was a foregone conclusion, and sat himself by the dying camp fire, reaching for the not quite empty stew pot. "Good. Let's get this fire going and I'll relieve you of your leftovers."

Balinor almost smiled, but nervously held his hand out towards the embers instead. "Byrne". New flames sprang to life, even with the meagre wood remaining to sustain them.

Sam sat back, surprised, but nodded to Balinor. "Handy." He began piling some of the spare wood Balinor had collected earlier onto the flames.

While he did that, Balinor put Merlin into the nest and tucked him in, before returning to sit beside Sam and furnish him with stew to be warmed. They had a lot of catching up to do. He potentially had a decision to make...

* * *

Merlin had slept well. He had been a frenzy of activity since waking that morning, immediately burrowing into Balinor's arms for a cuddle, waking him in the process. He had insisted on helping prepare breakfast, and woken Sam by shaking his shoulders roughly. Everything was exciting again. It was good to see.

The men had been reluctant to get up. After Merlin had been put back to bed, the two of them had stayed up talking well into the early hours. Balinor had asked more about Hunith. How she had fared without him. If she hated him for leaving her. Sam had enquired as to where Balinor had gone, and what he had done with himself these past years. He was also keen to know how he had come to be caring for Merlin, and found himself reflecting quietly on the mysterious workings of the world because of it. Reflection that Balinor had joined him in wholeheartedly.

Balinor had also come to understand Merlin's response to the pony carving in its half-finished state, as Sam remarked with a smirk 'another for his collection'. Hunith had kept every one of his carvings, all of which Merlin knew as his toys. There were a great many. Balinor knew himself to be rather prolific in his hobby. Merlin had been happy to receive the newly finished pony. He currently dashed about the path they walked, engaged in playing with his new toy, apparently of the mind that it could fly as he whooshed it through the air in one hand.

Balinor followed behind, resuming his duty ensuring that Merlin did not go too far. He led Halig's gelding along by its reins, Sam in step at his side. The three of them travelling together, it seemed sensible to all go on foot, rather than forcing one party or another to keep up with the horse. As they went, Sam asked about the gelding, and what Balinor intended to do with it.

"I hadn't thought," the Dragonlord replied absently. Truly he had not. At the time taking it had been a convenient way of putting distance between himself and the bandit camp. "Perhaps leave it at Ealdor? Molly must be close to useless by now, and things will be easier for having a fit, young horse." He patted the gelding's neck, its ears flicking curiously in response.

"Molly's not much for hard work any more," Sam confirmed.

Balinor was not surprised. "She was old when we arrived." He found a sad smile, thinking of the docile, flea-bitten grey mare he had called his own. Which he had left at Ealdor along with Hunith and Merlin when he had been forced to run.

Mention of her drew Merlin away from his game momentarily to pronounce 'mine', before he resumed racing about.

Sam grinned at the child's certainty. "That she is, Merlin. You're good enough to let us borrow her for the fields, aren't you?"

"Mmhm!"

Sam chuckled, and glanced at Balinor. "He loves that horse, and just living things in general. The slimier, or scalier, the better. It's because of him that Will keeps bringing toads home. Maria's at her wits end. She hates them."

Balinor couldn't help but chuckle at that, keeping it silent by biting his tongue between his front teeth, making his smile decidedly odd. Sam had seen it numerous times before, so was not taken by it.

"I'll leave it," Balinor said, referring to the horse. He knew how useful it would be, especially during the harvest. He had nowhere to keep it himself, should the fancy to keep a horse again take him.

Sam cracked a grin. "I've no idea why the village would ever be anything but pleased to see you, Bal. You bring trouble and horses every time you step foot there."

"One ought to cancel out the other."

"Surely." Sam shook his head and threw a glance at the sturdy gelding in thought. "So, does this fine beast have a name?"

Balinor shrugged. "No clue. Didn't think to ask."

"Well it needs a name. Can't keep calling it 'horse' for the rest of its days."

When Balinor opened his mouth to answer, Sam cut him off hurriedly "-and no giving it a person name. Giving animals people names is one of those stupid things you do."

That insulted Balinor. "I do not."

"You do. I _am not_ going around the fields calling for a horse with a person name. It was bad enough with Daniel."

Ah yes. Daniel. Balinor couldn't help but grin. "How is Daniel these days?"

"Dead. He committed suicide upside down in the stream up the back of the beech field. Likely to escape the humiliation of being called Daniel."

"What would you have called him?"

"Nothing! He was a ram. Later a delicious mutton stew. He didn't need a name."

"And yet this horse does?"

Sam nodded once, decisively, as though the distinction ought to be clear. "Of course. He's a horse."

It was true, Balinor supposed, that horses normally did have names. And really he _did_ tend to give animals 'people names'. Molly, his own 'war horse'. Chris, his father's mighty cob. Daniel... He frowned, unsure why he lacked creativity in that department. His eyes alighted on Merlin where the boy played a little way ahead of them up the track. He gave animals people names, while Hunith gave people animal names, he mused with a quirk of his brow. Then he turned his eyes back to the horse, and his lips found a small smile.

"Merlin should name him."

Sam threw him a curious look. Balinor almost gave a defensive shrug. "It is his horse." Before Sam could say anything, he called out to the little boy, "Merlin."

The child's head peeped out of the bracken bordering the path, his expression curious. Balinor holding a hand out brought him running.

"This horse needs your help," Balinor told him, all seriousness. Merlin blinked up at him, not sure how he could help their big horse. Balinor went on, "he needs a name. D'you want to give him one?"

Eagerly, Merlin beamed, and nodded. He looked up at the horse thoughtfully, the four of them standing immobile on the forest path while he tackled this crucial task. After a moment, he held his arms out to Balinor who handed the animal's reins off to Sam that he could pick Merlin up.

Merlin considered the horse from eye level, thinking so hard one could almost see his brain working. At last, his face split into a wide grin.

"Mud!" he proclaimed, pleased with himself.

Balinor was dumbfounded. "Mud," he repeated, deadpan.

" _Daniel..."_ Sam whispered nearby, trying to sound like an echo.

"Mud!" Merlin exclaimed again, even the horse taken aback by the suggestion, or at the very least startled by the way that the little boy threw his hands in the air with abandon when happy.

"Why Mud, Merlin?" Balinor asked him, drawing his head back that he could look the boy in the eye.

"Because he's brown like mud!" Merlin squealed excitedly. The young Dragonlord considered the happy child a moment, before nodding his head.

"Fair point. Mud it is, then."

Pleased, Merlin clapped his hands. Mud flicked his ears, unsure about the whole thing, but not overly concerned.

Sam simply observed the whole thing with a curious eye. "He's as strange as you. Not just in the magic thing."

"Mud is a fine name," Balinor returned, bouncing Merlin slightly on his hip. "He'll be a fine horse. Both for the harvest, and for Merlin when he's able to ride on his own."

"So you're serious, then? The horse _is_ Merlin's?"

"Of course." Balinor looked at Merlin, leaning back a little that he could look the boy in the face, "you won't mind lending Mud for field work, will you, boy?"

Merlin shook his head. Even so young he understood that working the fields was important. The fields were where food came from, after all.

Balinor smiled at him, and nodded his satisfaction. "Good boy."

"He's spoilt, you know," Sam chuckled, watching the pair of them. "Horses coming out of his ears, more toys than he knows what to do with, and his very own Lord to carry him everywhere."

Balinor frowned, the expression barely covering a very obvious repressed grin. He did not set Merlin down, Sam noticed. Instead he walked on, leaving Sam to follow along behind them leading Mud.

* * *

It was a little further on that they almost crossed paths with another of Eldred's patrols. Sam told them to go on to the clearing just outside of Ealdor's East side while he met the patrol and found out what the noise was. Not long after that, it began to rain. To avoid leaving too many clear tracks, Balinor elected to ride, Merlin sitting in front of him where it would be easiest to hold onto him in a state of emergency.

The sky had been over cast all morning, threatening to let loose its contents. Now that it had it did so in large, heavy drops that soaked Mud within moments. With his leather, oily skin it hardly bothered him. Merlin's fox fur did not fare so well, so Balinor stripped it off him and stuffed it into the top of his knapsack. He pulled his heavy coat around himself and Merlin, the boy happily nestling in against his chest. Balinor suspected that the middle of a cuddle was Merlin's favourite place to be. Contact had a soporific effect on him. Even now, with the rain pattering loudly on the leather just beside his ear he looked to be drifting off. Once his thumb made it to his mouth, that would be it.

Balinor stroked a hand over Merlin's hair, the little boy murmuring something incomprehensible and leaning into his touch.

Sam was right, Balinor conceded. Merlin had come to mean the world to him. The thought of walking away from him was gutwrenching.

* * *

*Forspedé þa gehælednes. Ic ácwice þe – Speed the healing. I relieve thee

*Sweðe in hléwþ - Swathe in warmth

*Beslæp in liss, mín bearn. Helpendlio fram feor – sleep in peace, my babe. Be released from fear.

 **AN:** Only one more chapter and an epilogue left. Next chapter will be up tomorrow, and the epilogue before monday. For those rooting for Merlin to get home this chapter, sorry. Had to introduce Sam first, since he's been floating about in one form or another for a little while now. Also 'Mud'. I promise, though, very, very soon!


	9. Nine

Πέρασμα των πορειών

* * *

Nine

They stopped in the clearing to wait for Sam as agreed. The two men had discussed the best way to tackle Simmons and the others was by putting up a united front. If they brought Merlin back together then it would present a better argument than if Balinor did so alone. Sam was a soldier of the crown. His standing within the village had risen considerably because of it. Simmons and any others who objected would find it more difficult if Balinor had Sam's backing.

Also, and Balinor found himself cringing at his own thought, he was unsure what he would do if he saw Simmons without Sam there to hold him back. He may well do the man a damage.

Merlin clearly knew where they were, sitting on the grass, looking around excitedly between gnaws of his apple. He would be eager to see his mother, Balinor knew.

For himself, the thought of being within touching distance of Ealdor was absolutely terrifying. This was the place he had been happiest, even if only for a short time. Until he had been driven out by Uther's hatred, that reached further than the borders of his own lands in his bloody quest to take the last that those he hunted had to give. He looked at Merlin, unable to help the almost smug smile that settled on his face. Uther had not succeeded. He may have been forced away from Hunith, but she still had something of his that Uther had not been able to take. That thought gave him untold comfort.

The rain was lessening off. Balinor sat shivering in the chill air, his tunic wet through. Merlin was bundled up in his coat, the shoulder piece risen up around his ears that his messy hair stuck out over the top.

Merlin noted Balinor watching him, and leant forward to get up on his knees, holding his apple between his teeth by the stalk to rummage through the knapsack and produce another two.

Balinor watched, intrigued. Merlin had never taken more food than he had been offered before, or even asked for more. The child held one of the apples out to him,

"Balinor," he said decisively, smiling toothily when the man took the apple from him. He got to his feet and started over to the horse, "and Mud."

Balinor followed quickly, moving to supervise Merlin and ensure that his fingers didn't get bitten. He showed Merlin the safe way to feed a horse by hand, slicing the apple into chunks with his knife and placing them on Merlin's flattened palm to offer Mud. He explained that Mud could bite him, not because it was his intention, but because horses were big, and clumsy, and sometimes too eager to have treats to watch for small fingers. Merlin understood, and quickly became an expert at hand-feeding Mud.

It wasn't long after they returned to sit that Sam arrived looking hot and flustered. Balinor rose to meet him, nerves in the pit of his stomach. "Well?"

Sam took a breath and straightened, bracing his hands on his hips as he panted. "They're looking for stragglers. Some of Kanen's rabble got away. Phaelan – that's Eldred's first Knight – he hates raiders with a passion. He'll see them all dead before he rests."

That was good news. It also explained what Eldred's men were doing chasing about this far out. It made sense that a Knight should be chasing a one-sided vendetta...

Still. "And they're not interested in us?"

The worry on Balinor's face, Sam was glad to shake his head. "They didn't much notice you, Bal. Which is quite a thing, seeing as you stick out like a sore thumb. You're no raider. That's clear."

Balinor deflated, relieved. He turned to collect Merlin, glad that the danger had passed, and threw the boy up into Mud's saddle. Sam handed him his knapsack, and Merlin his wooden pony (also named Mud), and they were ready to go.

* * *

The place had not changed. Not really. A barn had been raised, but that was about all. The houses looked the same. The sounds were the same. Slim Edward still stood to frighten crows in the field. Ealdor was almost exactly as he had left it. Walking the main path into town, it felt as though he had done the exact same thing yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that.

The villagers working in the beech field looked up, the man cleaning out the pig pen straightened and leant on his pitchfork to watch their approach. Some of the women and younger men doing daily tasks among the houses stopped to approach, seeing Sam in his maille walking beside the horse.

Balinor led Mud, ensuring that his walk remained steady, but purposeful, and his head remained high. He drew the authority and air of a Dragonlord about him, wanting to leave no doubt in any of their minds that he was bringing Merlin back to stay. No arguments to the contrary would be heard.

The little boy atop the horse had certainly not gone without notice, frantic whispering breaking out among the women gathered near to the hall. One of whom picked up her skirts and hurried off across the village at a run.

Merlin did not go unnoticed, but neither did Balinor. He was aware of people whispering his name in the crowd, but pointedly ignored them as he, Sam and Mud halted in the village centre, and he turned to lift Merlin down from the horse.

As much as they whispered, not a one came forward or spoke up. A small hubbub rose from behind them, however. Small being the operative word as a little figure topped with a mess of light brown tufts came haring through the forest of skirts ad catapulted itself into Sam's waiting arms.

William, Balinor presumed.

Once the little boy had done with his father's affections, he threw himself at Merlin, catching the smaller child in a tight embrace. "Merlin!"

"Will!"

The two boys hugged each other for dear life, even the hardest of hearts unable but to soften at the scene.

Over Merlin's shoulder, Will peered up at Balinor. "Wassis?" he demanded.

It was Sam who answered, Merlin unable to see what Will was asking about. "My mate Bal," he told his son, clapping a hand down on the Dragonlord's shoulder as though to prove it.

Will nodded, convinced, and released Merlin to look up at the older man pushing his way through the gathered villagers, a look of thunder on his face.

The man's eyes fell on Merlin, sending the child into a trembling fit and to cower back behind Balinor's leg. Will moved in front of them, holding his arms out to the sides as a shield.

"Go away!" he snapped, the older man about to reach for him when Sam stepped in front of him.

Simmons faltered, but did not heed Will's words. Instead he jabbed a gnarled finger towards Merlin. "What is _that_ doing back?" he demanded of Sam, grinding the words out through clenched teeth. "You know what he is. You know why the bounty hunter took him."

"He's a child," Sam answered casually with a slight shrug.

"It is a monster." Simmons bit back. "It has magic. It is evil."

"According to the laws of a crazed King in another Kingdom. Eldred has not banned magic."

"It is an abomination. Those who practice it are corrupt at heart."

"Oh, come off it!" Sam let his arms fall to slap against his sides in disbelief. "Merlin? Little Merlin is corrupt at heart?"

The quiet exchanges among some of the villagers at Sam's words irked at Simmons, fuelling his anger. "It is not what he is now. It is what he will grow to be! Why do you think magic was banned by Camelot?"

"You really think Hunith's son is going to become a corrupt, power-hungry monster? Are you actually listening to yourself?"

"The little tyke has evil in his heart."

Sam threw his hands up in the air. "You know what? Idiot is too good a bloody word for you!"

"Are _you_ listening to _yourself_? Magic is evil. The boy has magic-"

Before he could finish his sentence Simmons was flung backwards, lifted clean off his feet and thrown through the air. He did not hit the ground, but came to a gentle stop that he hovered just above it, before descending slowly to lie in the mud, unhurt.

Shaken, he looked up, his heart in his throat to see Balinor glaring at him, gold fading from his eyes that they were dark once more.

"So do I," Balinor told him, rage shivering in his voice as he clenched his fists and stalked forward to stand directly over Simmons. "Care to try your luck with one not so small and defenceless?"

That the other villagers had drawn back was undeniable, a rippling undertone of fear in their hushed conversations. Fear which ebbed and calmed a little as Merlin tugged on the hem of Balinor's tunic.

The anger faded from Balinor as he looked down to find Merlin looking up at him, holding his arms out. He let Simmons be and picked Merlin up, sitting the boy on his hip as he had done so many times these past few days, and gently chased tears from Merlin's small cheeks with his thumb.

Simmons took his chance and scrambled to his feet, stumbling back to put space between Balinor, Merlin and himself. "Beasts!" he proclaimed, swiping a hand across his nose as though expecting to find blood and a little disappointed that there was none. "See? See how he tried to kill me!?"

The villagers looked at one another. Alfred, the reeve, approached Simmons in a calm manner. "Wulf-"

"He tried to kill me!" Simmons pressed, slapping away Alfred's hand reaching for his shoulder.

Balinor shot him a glare, Merlin having buried his face in his shoulder, frightened by Simmons' hysteria. "Should I have wanted to kill you, all I had do was let you fall."

Simmons paused, shaken. He stuttered, annoyed by the conversations happening among the people around him, at Alfred for being so calm, at Sam for affiliating himself with Balinor and Merlin. A soldier of the crown, and he was allowing this!?

"Your kind do not care who they kill!" he set an accusing finger on Balinor, "nor do you care the trouble you brought into our lives last you were here. Magic is a selfish force. It brings strife, and evil to all it touches. It-"

"QUIET!"

Simmons fell silent, stunned, and awed. As did all of the others, silenced by the deep, guttural rasp of Balinor's voice as he stared down Simmons. He looked ready to scream, his shoulders rising and falling in shuddering movements, in time with his enraged breaths as Merlin sobbed in his arms, frightened and hurt by Simmons' words. Sam's hand on his shoulder helped to calm him, his friend's voice quiet and placating,

"Bal. Calm down."

Balinor did as he was told, closing his eyes a moment, allowing his Dragonlord's voice to slip from his grasp. He nodded gently, and nuzzled his cheek against the top of Merlin's head.

Simmons glared at the three of them. He looked to Alfred, and then to another older man, Galen. "Are you going to allow this?" he demanded, indicating to Balinor and Merlin with a vicious flick of his wrist.

Alfred took a breath and looked at Balinor appraisingly. He shook his head. "It would endanger Ealdor to have you here, Balinor," he said at last, quietly regretful.

Balinor noted it. With a tired sigh he shook his head. "I'm not asking to come back, Alfred. I returned to bring Merlin home to his mother."

"Bal." Sam met his eyes with a frown. Balinor brushed him off and continued,

"He is just a child. He doesn't yet understand the abilities he has, believe me. But he is a good boy. He means no one any harm."

"He is an abomination!" Simmons spoke up, taking a step forward only to be halted by Balinor's attention, "magic is banned in Camelot for a reason."

"And you know that reason, do you?"

"It is evil."

Balinor huffed, and shook his head, turning his attention back to Merlin in his arms. "You know nothing," he muttered, sadness tingeing his voice.

Simmons faltered at the clear emotion, but pressed on, "you tried to kill me."

Balinor snorted a quiet laugh, and shook his head again. Not giving Simmons the time of day any longer.

The older man swallowed, his throat dry. He turned to Alfred instead. "He still tried to kill me."

"No he didn't."

That did not come from the reeve. All eyes turned at the small voice, to Galen's teenaged son, Matthew where he stood at his father's side. The boy fidgeted under the attention, but spoke up anyway. "That's not what it looked like. Not from... here. He's not even hurt."

Sam nodded, smirking. "That's right. Bal didn't even let him touch the ground."

"Certainly how I recall it," Galen stated affably, puffing on his pipe.

Simmons appeared ready to explode. "Magic is-"

"Why do you hate magic so much, Simmons?" Sam interrupted him, looking at him askance. "What did it ever do to you?"

Simmons faltered. "It is unnatural," he returned, his voice flat as though reading from a list, "it is wrong. It is-"

"You protest about it an awful lot," Sam went on, deaf to his grousing, "anyone would think you had it."

There was silence. A silence that was quickly drowned beneath spluttering, but a silence nonetheless. One that lasted just a beat too long.

Balinor barked out a hollow laugh, letting his head tip back on his neck even as he knew that Simmons jumped in surprise. "You have magic." He chuckled. "Of course you do."

Simmons blanched, aware of the eyes turning on him, the looks of disbelief, and disgust, and shaken heads. "I do not!" he snapped. "How dare you!"

Alfred stepped closer to him, frowning. "Is this true, Wulf?"

"Of course not. It is a filthy lie."

"You are not a sorcerer?"

"Don't be ridiculous."

"He speaks the truth." The eyes turned on Balinor who addressed Alfred. "He has magic, but it is weak. Barely there. Probably not enough that he can do anything with it beyond feel its presence, or cast the most minor of spells. It's a wonder he even recognises what it is." Balinor shook his head, ever so gently, "I doubt any one would call him a sorcerer."

"You lie!" Simmons hissed, glaring at him as though there was nothing in the world he would rather do than put his hands around Balinor's neck and squeeze.

It did not frighten the Dragonlord in the least. " _You_ lie, Simmons. Your magic is as pathetic as you. Magic is a mirror. It reflects the personality of the possessor. It flows through us all, as it does all living things, but not all catch and retain enough that they can claim to have it. You do. It is there. Barely, as I said, but it is not hard to sense if one knows how to look."

The older man opened his mouth to protest, but faltered, aware of the derision in the glare of his neighbours, and slumped, defeated. "Damn you."

Amongst the hubbub that followed, Sam tried to keep a halfway sensible expression on his face as he raised his voice to ask "then why?"

The villagers fell silent, watching Sam as he spoke, waiting on the answer to the question that now seemed even more important than that of Simmons' integrity. The one that brought the derision from his fellows. Sam went on, part disgusted, part intrigued, "why hand Merlin over to the bounty hunter?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Simmons snapped, flustered. "His presence would bring Knights. The same as yours did," he told Balinor flatly. "When they come looking for one of us, the rest are likely to be caught as well."

Balinor said nothing to that, unable to look Simmons in the eye. He managed to lift his gaze after a moment, and shook his head. "You betrayed your own. For what? Your magic is weak enough to go unnoticed. Uther's men would never have known."

"And if they had known?"

"They would not."

"They have ways and means. Rumours of magic spread. Uther would have sent his witchfinder eventually."

Balinor swallowed, recalling Aredian with disgust. "Should that man have come here, he would have found someone guilty of sorcery. If not you, then someone else. Maybe more. It is his way. He cares for coin and not for truth. We do not betray one another."

"I am not one of you."

"We. Do. Not." Balinor ground out, low. "No matter how weak or powerful. We look after our own in need. That is the way it is. If you were that frightened, you could have gone to the druids."

"And been slaughtered with them."

Balinor stopped. He did not try any further. It was pointless.

There was no need to press the subject. Simmons could not say anything further in his defence. The moral high ground he had purported to hold was well and truly out of his reach with the revelation of what he had done.

In the heavy silence, Alfred huffed, and rubbed at his eyes, tired by this almighty mess. "So that is three of you with magic," he muttered somewhat sarcastically, loud enough that the others would hear, "one an elder of this village. Any others like to speak up? The floor is open."

As he expected, there was silence. He was about to laugh it off and set his mind to finding a solution to the problem before him, when Matthew's shaky voice spoke up from beside Galen once again,

"... Actually, I do."

Alfred did not know what to say. He was spared the effort of thinking of something as Galen nodded, thoroughly unphased, and palmed the back of Matthew's head affectionately. "That's right. He does. Very handy it is, too. Can't make things float, or move about like little Merlin, but never was there any better at knowing the coming weather. Not had a harvest ruined in nearly a ten year now, all 'cause of my Matthew."

Alfred blinked, surprised to say the least. Galen spoke the truth, though. Ealdor's harvests, good yield or not so, had not been destroyed by rain or snow before they were got in for almost as long as Matthew had been alive. Curious now, more than irritated, he glanced about his gathered villagers, "anyone else?"

Rosie the mason's wife hesitantly and nervously glanced around, her eyes passing over Matthew, and little Merlin and Balinor, and she nodded her head. Her husband took her hand to reassure her, smiling at her in a way which could only mean that he knew. Finally, a strapping young farmer, Carl, raised his hand.

At Sam's feet, Will puffed out his chest and looked up at Alfred proudly. "I don't have magic," he stated with all the power and authority of a tiny King, "but I'd like if I did."

Despite himself, Balinor smiled at that, and hefted Merlin in his arms that they would both be more comfortable. He looked at Alfred levelly. "It seems you have a warlock, two sorcerers and a … and Simmons to Ealdor's name, Alfred."

The reeve pinched the bridge of his nose. "Apparently so."

"Less than expected, for a population this size."

"Less?" Alfred looked at Balinor, stunned. "And what of you, Balinor? Where on that list do you fit?"

Balinor shook his head quickly, glad when Sam interjected with 'warlock. Skilled one, too.'

The conflict on Alfred's face was plain as day. He looked around his fellows in uncertainty, eventually alighting on Galen where the older man still stood unconcerned, puffing on his pipe as though all this was nothing more than a nice chance to be outside and enjoy the 'lovely' weather. "What say you, Galen?" he indicated those who had confessed to magic with a sweep of his hand, "to all of this?"

Thoughtful, Galen continued to puff on his pipe. At last, he heaved his large shoulders in a shrug. "Not much if I am to be honest with you, Alfred. I am hardly one to talk in light of my own family's talents," he ruffled Matthew's hair, the timid boy saying nothing about it. "Must say, though, that should there be sendings away in the air, I'm not upping my sticks for anything, and neither is Matthew. I was born here, I have lived here, and I fully intend on dying here and being a nuisance when all of you strong boys have to roll me into my grave and put your backs out. I say we were well enough before this pandemonium, and we'll be well enough after it. If'n you say magic's not allowed, then I'll be a nuisance before I'm cold – turns out Rosie's been using her witchcraft on her wonderful pies, then without them there isn't much point in living on anyway."

"I want pie," Merlin murmured in Balinor's arms, gnawing on the tip of his index fingernail. Balinor smiled at him and very lightly bumped their foreheads, before turning his attention back to the discussion.

"Magic is not banned by Eldred," Galen finished, looking back at Alfred matter of factly.

"He cares little for Ealdor anyway," Sam added, his hands resting on Will's shoulders where his boy stood in front of him. "Uther has not been here in years. Why should he come again?"

"What of Merlin?" Alfred asked, looking over at the child in Balinor's arms sympathetically. "His talents are more obvious than those of the others."

"I understand that Hunith has taught him to keep it secret," Balinor explained, meeting Merlin's curious gaze with a smile, "but the same as all things with children, he will learn as he, and his understanding of his emotions grows. He does remarkably well as it is. More so than I did at his age."

Alfred thought on it a moment, leaving an anxious feel in Balinor's guts. He was a good man, Alfred. Hard, but fair. He had the best interests of Ealdor at heart. His decision would be based on what he felt best for the village, not on what he wanted personally.

With a great sigh, Alfred looked around his villagers wearily. "For now we shall go on as before," he announced. "Those who wish that are welcome to stay." He glanced at Balinor and nodded briefly, answering the young Dragonlord's unvoiced question.

Balinor returned the nod, mouthing to words 'thank you' silently.

"We will meet in the hall in two nights to discuss the matter further," Alfred added, "I want to know all that magic has had a hand in with this village's work, and I want only the truth of it. A final decision will be made from there. More than anything, I don't want any rumours getting out. There'll be no upheavals around here. Let that be clear." He made his last words on the subject slow and firm, pointedly looking at Simmons as he spoke them, and dispersed the villagers with a wave of his hand, turning to return to his own work.

Simmons went also. He looked at Balinor as he turned, but said nothing and slunk away. He would not say anything, Balinor knew. He could not protect himself, should he turn another with magic in. Not now that his true nature was exposed. There was no threat in the man.

Sam broke Balinor from his thoughts with a proud slap on the back. "Well done, m'Lord. His tail is tucked so far between his legs it's a wonder he's not coughing hairs."

"He'll leave Merlin alone. That is the important thing," Balinor returned gruffly, watching after Simmons as he stalked away to tend the orchard and his bees.

Will sniggered, gleeful to see the old crow smacked down a peg or ten. "I liked it best when Bal chucked him on the floor," he stated, grinning up at Balinor as though he had found a new hero to worship.

"William," Sam admonished, "that is not how we solve disputes, is it?"

The spunky boy shook his head. "No, Samuel."

As rude as that was, Balinor couldn't help himself. Will was so much Sam's miniature, both in looks and demeanour that he couldn't help but close his eyes and try to hold in chuckles, Merlin breaking into giggles at the face he made doing it.

"You two can shut up," Sam muttered irritably, and turned his attention on his son, "and you. Three days dungeon."

Will whined at that, but presumably knew better than to argue. Balinor cocked an eye at Sam as Will stomped off home to begin his sentence. "Dungeon?"

"No playing outside for three days," Sam clarified, annoyance colouring his voice.

"Oh."

"Will was naughty," Merlin remarked, watching his friend stomp off home in a quiet tantrum.

"Yep," Sam replied simply. Irked.

Balinor could not help but smirk at his friend. Oh, the joys of fatherhood -

Movement on the path caught his attention, different to that of the villagers moving away. Three figures were approaching at a hurried walk. Balinor looked round, his breath stilling. One was the girl who had run at the sight of them, another was Maria, Sam's wife, and the last-

The last let out a cry, hitched up her skirts, and sprinted towards them, leaving the other two women behind. "Merlin!"

Automatically Balinor set Merlin on the ground, the little boy wriggling to be freed, while Sam left them to meet Maria.

Merlin gave a loud sob. "Mam!"

The little boy bolted off down the path towards the running woman, babbling his name for her over and over again between tears.

"Merlin!" Hunith fell to her knees just as he toppled over, catching him up in her arms and cuddling him to her breast fiercely. "Oh, Merlin. Merlin!"

"Mam!"

Tears trickled over her cheeks, her head light as she gasped for air, barely able to believe it was him. At first, she had not been able. "Oh, my baby! My Merlin."

The child buried his face in her neck, clinging to her as though his very life depended on it. He wailed, big, breathy sobs that would not stop. Hunith clung back, terrified that if she released him, he would be stolen from her again. Her baby was safe. He was home. She had thought that she would never see him again...

The light crunch of steps on the gravel reached her ears. Wary, she opened her eyes and looked up.

The sight of the man standing there stilled her breaths all over again. Unable to say it, she mouthed his name, the soft, small smile he gave in return sending her pulse racing, her skin prickling with goosebumps as it always had done before.

Merlin looked up also, the bright smile that chased away his sobs sending her heart a-flutter. Her arms feeling limp and heavy, she released her babe as he wriggled to stand and run to the man, clinging on around his waist and pressing his cheek to his side.

Hunith watched him be picked up, and settled so confidently on the man's hip. A sight so right she could not stop the sob that accompanied it. Her heart melted at the words her little boy spoke, the love that filled her for both of them almost more than she could bear,

"You said," Merlin told him quietly, cuddling him tight. "Thank you."

Balinor held him, nodding his head, almost speechless. "You are most welcome, Merlin."

The little boy nuzzled his cheek like a cat, and wriggled to be put down. He was running as soon as his feet touched the ground, his excited cry of 'mam!' ringing in the air.

Hunith held him again, every fibre of her being singing out to have her baby back. She could not help but look up at the man standing quietly on the path, waiting so patiently for their reunion to end that he may see her himself. She saw him ground his eyes from her, noted the blush of red over his face as her own skin prickled with nervous heat, and her lips quirked ever so gently at how charming his embarrassment looked.

Once her own sobs had faded, her own gasping breaths stilled, she gently released Merlin that she could sit back on her feet and look him in the face. She held him by his arms, rubbing small circles with her thumbs, loathe to let go of him completely. "Merlin, love. Why don't you ask Sam and Maria to take you home? Wait for me at the house and don't go outside until I get back, alright? I'll make you some lunch."

Merlin nodded, and rubbed at his eyes. He glanced at Balinor, before running off down the path towards the two familiar figures standing outside their home, as his mother had told him.

Hunith watched him go, aching at the loss of him again, even if were only to be short, and she knew that he was safe. Hesitant, she turned her attention from her son to look up at Balinor, and get to her feet. Shyly, she brushed the mud from her skirts. She must look awful, she knew, mucky from kneeling in the dirt, her eyes puffy and red, tears staining her cheeks. Looking at the man in front of her, she knew somehow, that none of it mattered to him.

Part of her wanted to slap him, shout at him, release all of the terrible feelings she had experienced since his leaving. Another wanted to go to him, to be swept up in his arms where she had always felt the safest. Happiest. But she knew that she do none of those things.

Not yet.

"Balinor," she began awkwardly, fluffing out one side of her skirts that she could avoid eye contact.

"Hunith." He still said her name with such reverence, such tenderness she felt she might melt into a puddle there and then. She must not. She had to remain together.

Nervous, she looked down the path behind her, watching Sam and Maria swing Merlin between them by his hands as they walked. She steeled herself. She must do this, before anything else. She had to. She wanted to. "Merlin," She murmured, meeting Balinor's gaze a moment, the hairs on the back of her neck bristling, "he's-"

"I know."

All of her strength deserted her. She flew into his arms, wrapped up in his warm embrace as sobs rose in her throat. She curled her hand around the back of his neck, unable to stop crying, even as she felt such love and affection for him as she had never felt before. Her man. Her wonderful man. He had protected their baby, brought him back to her. She could never love him enough for that; there was not enough of her heart and soul to devote to it.

Balinor held her tight, a deep sob escaping him unbidden at the joy he felt, and the pain. "M'sorry," he babbled. "M' sorry, m'sorry, m'sorry."

Hunith shook her head. She had been angry with him, once. Finding herself a young woman, alone and with child, not knowing if he were alive or dead. She had read the note he left, been greeted by the absence of him and the sight of it on her table when she woke. Had torn it up and thrown it in the cold hearth and screamed herself hoarse, folded her arms around herself and cried until her eyes were sore and no more tears would come.

And then she had picked up the fragments of the note from the ashes, and carefully pieced it back together, and placed it in her memory box where it still remained. She had hated him for a while. But it had not endured. The note was a reminder. The last thing he would ever do for her, was to keep her safe. The first and only thing he would ever give his unborn son was the gift of not knowing him, though he did not know it himself. Because in the mess left after the world had turned upside down, to not know him was a gift. It was safety, and she had tried with all of her might to maintain that gift for Merlin.

He had it no longer. He had something better.

"I'm sorry," Balinor said again, his stuttering breaths tickling her ear.

She shook her head, running her hand up into his hair. "No."

"I left you." He choked. "I should never have left you."

"You did what you thought was right," she assured him gently, turning her head that her lips brushed light across his cheekbone. "I understand. Even if it _was_ stupid. And you're a prat for it."

He huffed a laugh at that, tilted his forehead against hers. "My woman," he murmured, stroking a hand through her long, loose curls. "My perfect woman."

"My perfectly ridiculous man."

He could not hold it together at that, descending into hysterics, into which Hunith followed.

They remained in each other's embrace long after the tears had dried, and the laughter took over for sheer euphoria at the other's presence. They kissed, a sweet, warm and loving welcome back, and then Hunith took his hand, and led him home to be fed and fussed over, and cuddled and kissed some more and heartily admonished, and thumped and pushed over. And to damn well explain himself, even if she already knew his reasons, and tell her the story of how he came to find their son and had brought both Merlin and himself home to her.

And if she asked him to tell her the part where he came home to stay more than once that evening, then he never said a word about it.

* * *

 **AN:** Just the epilogue to go, and that will be finished by monday :) There are some bonus chapters written. If there's interest then I'll gladly put them up!


	10. Epilogue

Πέρασμα των πορειών

* * *

Epilogue

He was drawing water from the well when the first tingle of something poked at his senses. Movement out by the fields drew his eyes, along with those of the girls washing sheets near the pig's cot.

Two horses were approaching, cantering their merry way through the wheat swaying in the beech field without a care for the plants' welfare. Immediately he saw them, Merlin knew that whoever their riders were, they were utter prats. Watching them approach he stood his bucket on the edge of the well, and folded his arms atop it to rest and stare in disbelief.

The lead rider was a lad of around his own age, possibly a little older, blonde and blue-eyed, and looking very much like there was a bad smell under his nose. There could well be, seeing as the pigs had not been cleaned out for about a week. Or it could simply be arrogance.

The second looked older, and perhaps a tad singed around the edges, a certain blackened quality to his head of bouncing brown curls. They were undoubtedly noblemen, and more than likely both Knights. That was fine, Merlin thought, watching them slow to a trot as they gained the dusty path into the village. They weren't in their livery, and two Knights were nothing to be afraid of. Certainly not Cenred's goons.

He straightened from his lean as they approached, snorting quietly to note that the blonde was doing that one hand on the reins thing meant to make a man look proficient and without a care, until he landed on his backside courtesy of an adder, or a low-flying crow, or a flapping piece of cloth. That one hand thing that was usually succeeded by 'both hands on the reins, boy'.

Seeing that the blonde seemed to be heading towards _him_ of all people, probably with a demand of some sort, judging by the look on his face, Merlin raised both eyebrows and jumped in first.

"Got something against wheat, have we?"

The blonde looked confused, whether due to being questioned by a dusty serf with a slightly irregular lilt to his voice, or the question itself, it was difficult to determine. "Excuse me?"

Looking somewhat like a petulant housewife, or maybe his mother when he tracked filth all over her lovely new wooden floor before she could get the reeds down, Merlin stuck his hands on his hips and huffed. He nodded towards the beech field.

The blonde followed it, his eyes falling on the tall stalks dancing lightly in the wind. "Oh." There were two rather obvious trails, crushed flat by horses passing through. "Well. We're here on important business."

"More important than the village being able to eat this winter?"

"I – what?" The look on the blonde's mug into was hilarious and interesting in equal measure. "Now hang on-"

"Sire," the singed Knight halted him before he could tirade, disappointing Merlin a little as it was probably going to have been side-splitting.

He latched onto the Knight's words instead. "Sire?" He folded his arms over his chest, and canted his head to the side knowingly, "so you're not just a prat, but a royal one?"

The royal whatever-station-he-held, Prince, most likely, looked about to argue, but was stayed by a quiet tut from the Knight. He gave in, and raised his hand to massage the bridge of his nose. "Is there anyone less... insolent we could talk to?"

Steps behind brought Will to Merlin's side, the cheeky-faced young man looking up at the two newcomers with a frown. "Who are these idgets, then?"

Merlin looked from his friend to the royal and his Knight, barely containing his laughter. "Nope," he answered the royal's question, perhaps a little too gleefully.

The supposed Prince looked about to start yelling when the Knight again calmed him, "Sire, perhaps we should simply ask them?"

The rage ebbed, leaving 'Sire' looking thoroughly drained, as though at the end of a long, and very trying day. He conceded, and straightened in his saddle to address the boys in front of him. "We're looking for a man," he announced, drawing his no doubt learned authority about him in an attempt to cow the grubby peasants before him, "goes by the name Balinor." He did not notice the flinch Merlin gave, in the process of pulling a leather bag of coins from his belt. "We're willing to pay."

Merlin was about to deny any knowledge, when to his horror, he noted Will eye the bag thoughtfully, and nod his head.

"Alright then." He held his hand out for the bag.

Merlin stared at him, unsure what exactly he felt beyond hurt and utter betrayal as Will counted out a couple of the coins in his palm.

Satisfied that the total sum amounted to 'a lot', Will looked up at the Prince and Knight and shook his head. "He ain't here."

The Prince nodded, expectant expression on his face prompting him onward. Will shrugged, "what?"

"He's not here..." The Prince waved his hand in a circular motion, asking for more.

Will nodded. "Yeah. He ain't here."

"Where is he?"

"How should I know? Not here."

The Prince turned puce, the look of out and out rage on his face slightly worrying to Merlin, and apparently soaring straight over Will's head.

"What use is that!?" He bellowed, and thrust his hand out for the coin bag, "give that back!"

Will clutched the bag to his chest, "not a chance! You wanted information. I gave it. No refunds."

"It was _useless_ information!"

"NO. REFUNDS."

" _William_!"

The Prince looked up, Merlin and Will also to see a tall, broad man approaching them along the path. The Prince huffed, relieved. Finally. A proper adult.

Despite the rasp of his initial shout, the man did not look angry. More exasperated. He halted a short way from Will and levelled what could only be described as a 'look' on him that made the boy squirm back. "What are you doing?"

Will did not answer. The 'look' intensified. "Huh?"

"Just messing with the towny boys." Will answered sheepishly. "Didn't mean anything by it."

"Give that gold back."

Will riled at that. "Oh, come on! He gave me this fair and square."

The Prince riled also, his bay horse shifting nervously beneath him, flicking its ears at his yell, "the information you gave was useless!"

"Yeah, well. You learned a valuable lesson about paying up front. That I threw in for free."

"William." The 'look' was back again.

Will fidgeted a moment, and huffed loudly, holding the bag back out to the Prince. "Fine. Take it."

Duly it was snatched back and stuffed inside the Prince's tunic that Will would not be able to get his hands on it again.

Merlin swallowed, and looked at his father, hoping to get his attention without using magic, just in case either of the two strangers were attuned to it. He did not have to worry, as Balinor looked up at the Prince, to his tired-looking Knight, and back again.

"Apologies, Sire. Boys will be boys. These two in particular." He cuffed both Will and Merlin around the backs of their heads, garnering an indignant scowl from Will, who slunk off embarrassed at having been chastised in front of the stuck up royal.

Graciously, the Prince inclined his head. "It is quite alright," the grudging quality of those words couldn't have been more obvious had there been a painted sign hung on them, "I. _Assure_. You. I am Prince Arthur of Camelot. This is Sir Leon-"

"I know who you are," Balinor told him flatly.

Arthur started, glancing at Leon a moment. "Well. Good."

"What information is it you seek?"

Merlin shifted a little closer to Balinor, nerves playing havoc in the pit of his stomach. "Father," he murmured, his low tone warning.

Arthur frowned at Merlin's strange behaviour, putting it down to bumpkin idiocy, and spoke again to Balinor, "We're searching for a man. Named Balinor. We were told that he had last been seen here some years ago."

"That is true." Balinor folded his arms, and flicked his hair over his shoulder, remarkably calm for the situation at hand, Merlin thought. "What would you want with him?"

Arthur blinked, and looked back at Leon, turning in his saddle to lift himself up and glance about the village. "Is he here?"

"What do you want with him?" Balinor repeated himself, silently indicating to Merlin to stand closer to him.

Merlin did as he was told, nerves not lessening.

Arthur hesitated, and flumped back down in his saddle. "Do you at least know where he can be found?"

Balinor inclined his head.

Arthur visibly deflated, relieved. "We must speak with him at once. On a matter of extreme urgency."

Unsure, Merlin stared up at the Prince, aware that his father was doing the same at his side. He appraised the young man and his companion, curious. It was an unusual opening line to prelude 'we're here to run you through and burn your family and village, evil fugitive from Camelot's righteous justice'. His father seemed to think so too.

Balinor again inclined his head, though did not drop his folded arms. "Go on, then."

Arthur frowned, surprise and uncertainty warring for dominance of his face. " _You_ are Balinor?"

Unperturbed, the last Dragonlord shrugged. "What were you expecting?"

"I don't..." Arthur looked him up and down. " _How_ old are you?"

Balinor almost allowed himself a smirk. Despite his greying hair and crow's feet, he did not appear to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders as one with the responsibilities and stresses of a King would. Judging by the look on Arthur's face, Uther had clearly not aged as well as he had. "Plenty old enough to put you over my knee with impunity, should you take that tone with an elder again, boy."

Leon drew his sword, levelling it at Balinor despite the distance between them as Arthur stared, dumbstruck. "Is that a threat to my Prince?"

"S'a promise to the pair of you, if you don't put that away, Sir Knight."

Leon faltered, surprised by the lack of threat he seemed to pose, and lowered his sword to look to Arthur for instruction.

The Prince, for all his arrogance boggled a moment longer, and bit back his surprise and in-built indignance at such an address, and politely bowed his head. Far from the dusty peasant this man appeared, he was in actual fact a Lord, and Camelot needed him. "Forgive me," he began, contrite, "you are not what we were expecting."

Exactly what that was, Balinor could only speculate. It must have been rather awesome, however, to have produced such a reaction. For a moment he wanted to ask, but forewent it in favour of a small smile. "I'm flattered, though I'm not sure I should be, so no harm done, Arthur. What was it you wanted to speak to me about?"

Arthur took a breath, but let it go, glancing about the village, and at Merlin in particular. "Is there anywhere we may go that is more private? It is not a matter I should like to discuss in the open."

Merlin folded his arms over his slight chest, and edged close still to his father. "I'm not going anywhere," he all but snapped.

Arthur looked about to protest, but the hand Balinor laid on Merlin's shoulder spoke of a desire that he should stay. To the Prince and Knight he nodded his head. "Come."

Leon shot a wary glance Arthur's way, but the Prince clicked his tongue, and guided his horse along the path after Balinor and Merlin.

* * *

The little house they were led to was... cosy. That was the best adjective Arthur could come up with for it. He found himself seated at a small table with Balinor, and a woman named Hunith. Hearing her name, Arthur understood how it was that Gaius knew where to find the elusive last Dragonlord. The old man had started to speak of his sister often as Arthur found himself spending more and more time in the physician's chambers of late. He spoke of the rest of his family also.

Through simple deduction, Arthur surmised Merlin to be the bright and friendly nephew Gaius mentioned, and the dark-haired girl currently folding washing on Balinor and Hunith's bed to be the quiet and studious niece. Both of whom were fully intent on listening in to what he had to say, Merlin with the demeanour of a thoroughly immovable object, and her with a vicious glare that spoke of immense distrust. As uncomfortable as they made him, Arthur found that he could not blame them. Doubtless they knew what had happened to their father before he had settled in Ealdor, just as Arthur knew that his father had hunted Balinor like a dog.

He forced his mind away from them, and all that had happened before, to the man and woman sitting in front of him. And the rather interesting cake that Hunith had insisted on feeding him. Because even though he was the enemy, she was intent on being a good hostess, even if not the best cook.

Hesitant, he cleared his throat, quietly glad of Leon's presence behind him where the Knight guarded the door that they would not be interrupted. "Thank you for seeing me," he began, somewhat lamely.

Balinor looked back at him levelly. "What is it you wish to discuss, Arthur?"

How could he put this? There was no way of easing into it. "The great dragon is attacking Camelot."

Silent, apparently thoroughly unsurprised, Balinor nodded his head.

Arthur hesitated a moment, but went on, "he is unstoppable. We have lost many good men trying. There is no choice left but to reach out to you." To the surprise of those around him, but not of the man he addressed, Arthur clasped his hands on the table, and bowed his head. "I humbly ask you. Please. Camelot needs your help."

The silence was deafening.

Merlin and his sister watched their father, waiting for his answer with growing nervousness. Hunith closed her hand around her husband's arm on the table. Balinor swallowed, and shuttered his eyes.

"Kilgarrah seeks vengeance for many wrongs against both our kinds. He will not be dissuaded from his path easily."

That the dragon had a name caused Arthur pause, but only for a second. "You will not kill him?" He sounded slightly disappointed.

Balinor looked at him sadly, not with the anger he expected. "He and I are the last. I will not take his life."

"Then how will you stop it?" Leon asked, the breathlessness of disbelief to his tone. "You would simply try and dissuade it, as you say?"

"I am a Dragonlord, Sir Knight," Balinor reminded him, authority creeping into his voice., "when I speak to Kilgarrah as kin, he _must_ obey my will."

Arthur watched him a moment, thoughtful. "Yet you are reluctant to do so," he realised, the way in which Balinor dipped his head confirming it.

"One does not issue commands lightly," Balinor explained. "Dragons have the blessings of free will and intelligence. To take that away is a heavy thing indeed."

"I believe I understand." Arthur rubbed a hand over his face, the thought of his own free will stripped away on the whim of another rather disturbing. "In this instance there are lives at stake. The dragon – Kilgarrah – rampages against the city every night. The citadel is holding for the most part, but it is the lower town, the people, who suffer most. It is for them that I ask for your help. Not for my father, and not for myself."

Balinor regarded him silently, his thoughts unknown to the young Prince before him. He still seemed hesitant, as though at war with himself. Then Hunith squeezed his arm again, and he heaved a great sigh. "I will help you, Arthur," he murmured, the conflicted expression not leaving his face. "But it does not sit easily, what may be required... as much as it may be right."

There was something in his tone that made Arthur wonder if it was only to forcing Kilgarrah that he referred. Still he released the breath he had been holding, and reached out across the table to clasp Balinor's offered hand, "thank you," he nodded his head, unable to stop from smiling, "thank you."

Across the room, the girl shook her head, picked up the hem of her skirts and stormed from the house, bodily shoving an unprepared Sir Leon aside as she went.

Merlin glanced at his parents and the Prince, and followed, leaving Leon watching after them dazedly.

"Ganieda!"

* * *

It took a little while, but he found her sitting on the fallen tree at the top of the beech field. Will was with her, twiddling a piece of wheat between his fingers.

Merlin approached in a subdued manner, unable to really muster any enthusiasm himself. He leant down to shove his sister with his elbow, "move up."

She and Will did, making it that he could join them.

The three of them sat silent, staring at Ealdor in the quiet afternoon sun. At length, Ganieda shook her head, and leant forward that she may fold her arms across her lap. "Why did he have to say yes?" she asked resignedly, uncaring which of them answered.

"Because he's a prize twat." Will returned, deadpan.

"Because he's the only one who can," Merlin told her levelly.

Ganieda nodded her head and twisted her hands up in her faded skirts. "I know."

They lapsed into silence once more, watching the village going about its business, Lucas tending the cow at the bottom of the meadow, and Matthew weaving rope on the wall beside the pigs' cot. The village carried on without a care for the Earth-shattering exchange taking place inside the one small house. Because it was only Earth-shattering for the one small family.

Will huffed loudly, and straightened. He cast the stalk away into the field and lost sight of it in the mass of its brethren. "Looks like Old man Simmons was right all along. It was only a matter of time before Uther came sniffing round if Balinor stayed. Really sticks in my craw."

"We all sort of knew," Ganieda muttered, her shoulders hunching.

Will cocked a glance at her, the corners of his mouth turning down. "You don't know anything, Nieds. You're only fifteen."

Irritated, she kicked him in the shin.

Merlin made no move to stop her. Normally it was down to him to stop their fights, but today he did not have the energy. Despite what Will had said, Ganieda was right. He felt that maybe they did all know that their time together was finite. Everyone's was, but theirs more so. Their father seemed more acutely aware of it than the rest of them. As happy as he was, Balinor always seemed to know that Uther would come for him again someday. He had always feared it, even if he did not say so out loud.

"What will happen, if he goes with Arthur?" Ganieda asked her brother this time, the fear quaking in her voice reflecting that quaking in Merlin, though he fought to hide it. "Once Kilgarrah is stopped. What will they do to father?"

Merlin did not want to tell her that he didn't know. Despite both of their ages, she expected him to know everything still, as she had always done.

To his irritation, Will answered for him,

"Probably turn on him, like that mad bastard-nutter does and execute him. That's what you get for giving a damn."

"Will," Merlin ground out, though not without sympathy, "not helping."

In response, Will heaved his shoulders and tore a fungus out of the tree beneath him to pull to pieces. "True, though."

"You're a git," Ganieda rested her head on Merlin's shoulder, her brother looping his arm around her, the angle allowing her to side-eye Will hatefully.

He took it in stride, well used to it.

Merlin let their pettiness go, and rested his cheek atop his sister's head. "I don't know what will happen," he told her quietly, "I believe in father, though. He can look after himself."

Silent, Ganieda nodded, well aware. They all knew that, but the knowledge did not stop the worry.

The arrival of Arthur after all this time meant that the shadow of Uther was well and truly over their heads. A terrifying prospect for any family of magic users, born or not. Will had lost so much already – his father had been killed some years past on a routine patrol of the Southern lands. His mother had succumbed to disease not long before whilst visiting her sister in a neighbouring village struck by the sweating sickness. All Will had left was Hunith and Balinor, and what they could share out between him and their own children. Materially he did have his father's house, used primarily as a bedroom by himself and Merlin, and a set of damaged and bloodied chaimnail. The prospect of more loss left him frightened, angry and prematurely bereft, and as always, when frightened, Will took it out on those around him.

They were all afraid. How could they not be? Merlin knew that it was up to him to remain strong. He had to, for his mother, and sister, and also Will. While he may not be the oldest, he was the more emotionally mature. It was what his father would tell him to do, before he left with Arthur. Possibly to never return. As afraid of that as he was, Merlin could not help but be proud of his father. Balinor was a good man, as he well knew, and with his mother, had brought him up to be the same. One must always do what was right, No matter how hard it may be.

* * *

They were to leave immediately the following morning. The atmosphere in the small house was tense as they ate, Hunith doing her level best to keep Will and Ganieda as far from Arthur as possible as the looks on their faces spoke of a desire to start an argument.

Merlin remained quiet. He found himself watching Arthur carefully, the Prince oblivious to his attentions while he spoke of Camelot, and gave news of Gaius. And shovelled food into his face. He tried to form an opinion on him, but found it difficult. Merlin knew that he'd a talent for gauging people. He had always been a pretty good judge of character. Arthur defied all of his efforts without even realising it. He seemed such an arrogant prat on the surface, braying and quick to talk about himself, but there were moments when he spoke of his home, and his people that he saw glimpses of a good and strong King in the making. Arthur truly cared for his people. That was plain to see, and it puzzled Merlin deeply.

He had heard tales of Camelot from his father since his childhood. As much as Balinor despised Uther, he had not urged his son to feel the same. Merlin had come to understand that the world was not black and white. Camelot had been a Kingdom of peace and safety for all her people once, and Uther a good and just King. The causes of the purge itself and its aftermath were known to him, and after all was said and done, Merlin would admit that he did not see Uther only as a monster. He pitied the man, and felt sorry for him as well as feared him. People were comprised of layers, he understood that as he tried to fathom Arthur out. The Prince intrigued him while simultaneously irritating him beyond measure. He simply did not know what opinion to hold.

After dinner, when Hunith's efforts finally failed and a shouting match erupted between Will and an incensed Leon, giving Ganieda the chance she had been waiting for to verbally lay into Arthur, Merlin escaped outside to sit on the bench beside the door and cut himself off from the yelling inside. He needed time to think, and work through his ideas and fears in private.

Ganieda had a point. When Balinor had outlived his usefulness, when Kilgarrah was gone, or dead, what would Uther do to him? Sorcerers, warlocks, witches: all were burned or beheaded for their magic. The Dragonlords had all been beheaded, Merlin had learned when he was old enough to understand. It was unlikely that the mad King would allow the last to simply go free. The very thought of his father being executed was utterly unbearable.

It was a selfish thought, one that refused to fade from his mind, but what if his father _was_ killed, and his Dragonlord abilities passed on? Merlin understood well that he may inherit the ancient power one day, he may not. The great responsibilities of the sacred gift were well-known to him. Balinor had trained him well, but he did not yet feel ready to shoulder the mantle of the last Dragonlord.

There was also the dreadful thought that Uther would know of his family and come to Ealdor to see them killed. Balinor had formed a contingency plan for that eventuality, and it was well-known to his wife and children. Should they ever come under threat, they were to go to Merendra, to the cave. They would be safe there until Uther's interest waned, when they could move on. Merlin knew exactly where the cave was. Balinor had taken him, and Ganieda and Will there several times over the years that they would know and be familiar with the route. Though the thought of having to leave Ealdor under threat of Uther's 'justice' was a horrible one.

Chilly in the cool evening air, Merlin shivered and hunched his shoulders into his over-sized tunic. He set a small flame in the palm of his cupped hands with a flash of gold, and breathed a tiny sigh.

It would be strange, he found himself thinking as he gazed at his flame listlessly, to be so far from his father after so long. Since they had met, they had never been far enough apart that they could not reach one another with a silent call, or brush of magic. Even when Balinor hunted away from the village in the woods with the other men, Merlin could still reach him should he feel that he needed to.

His mother called their bond 'deep and profound'. Balinor equated it to their respective need to save and be saved when they had first encountered one another. Maybe it was finally time to grow up? He had been taught to stand on his own two feet through the example set by both of his parents. They were a partnership of two independent people capable of getting things done. Because of that they had raised three children and built a stable, warm home with very little to their names. Rarely could Merlin ever remember wanting for anything. Maybe it was time to step up and be ready to follow in their footsteps? He would have to, should the unthinkable happen.

"Do you mind?"

Merlin looked up, finding Arthur stood beside the bench, looking down at him. It took a moment to register that the Prince wanted to sit down. "Oh. No." He moved over, giving Arthur room on the bench beside him.

They sat silent for a moment, Merlin wondering what the royal prat wanted from him, Arthur rallying his thoughts. After the moment was up, the Prince glanced at Merlin, a curious expression on his face, "don't you want to shout at me as well?"

Merlin cocked an eyebrow, but didn't bother looking at Arthur to know that there was a challenge behind the rather light tone of those words. "Thought about it," he admitted with a shrug, "didn't think it's worth it."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, seeing as you needed my father's help to tame Will, then you'll definitely be needing him to sort out Kilgarrah for you." To his surprise, Merlin found himself slammed bodily with a whack from Arthur's shoulder.

"I _did not_ need help dealing with Will!" The Prince exclaimed in a high-pitched tone of indignance that had Merlin caught between boggling and collapsing in a heap of giggles. "I had the whole thing under control."

"Yup. He was just about to give you back your purse when my father came along."

"Exactly."

"Prat."

Arthur sat forward that he could stare at Merlin in disbelief. "You're an idiot."

"Coming from the prat."

"I think I preferred being shouted at."

"Niedy was going easy on you."

"I think I could withstand being shouted at by a _girl_."

"Only because her words couldn't get through your thick skull."

"You're calling _me_ thick?"

"Yup."

"You're an idiot."

"Ha."

"And you have magic."

Merlin faltered, his eyes flying wide as they dropped to the flame cupped in his palms. "Oh..."

Arthur looked triumphant, but shrugged one shoulder almost thoughtlessly, "I thought you probably did," he said in a throwaway tone. "Gaius once told me it runs in families."

Merlin gaped. _Gaius_ had told him that? His uncle? The same Gaius who had sent his father to his mother in order to be _safe_?

To his surprise, Arthur said nothing more on it. Neither did he leap up and draw his sword. The Prince of Camelot merely cupped his own hands and edged them closer to Merlin's.

Unsure, Merlin tilted his, the flame running like shimmering water to sit perfectly happily in Arthur's. If anything, it burned a little brighter.

"It _is_ chilly out here tonight," Arthur remarked, his shoulders relaxing under the warmth from the flame. That Merlin was staring at him like a suffocating fish seemed only to amuse him further. "Something the matter?"

"I-" Merlin tried to form words, but the ability eluded him momentarily as he took in what he was looking at, what exactly was going on in front of him. "You... don't mind?"

"Mind what?"

Merlin shook his head, attempting to shake some sense back into himself. "You don't mind that I have magic?" he added quickly - "not that it's any of your business or anything."

Arthur shrugged a casual shoulder. "You're right. It's not my business."

"Right."

"Right?"

"Well," Merlin waved a hand, agitated, "why aren't you screaming 'Evil! Evil!' and dragging me off to the pyre?"

"Would you like me to?"

"No. Obviously."

"Then?"

"I.. just heard that in Camelot they think sorcerers make good kindling."

The mirth fell from Arthur's expression. He adjusted his position on the bench, grounding his eyes on the flame in his hands with determination not to look at Merlin's questioning face. "That's my father's belief," he said in a flat tone, one that harboured perhaps more than a simple recitation of a fact, "not mine."

Merlin did not say anything, only stared at Arthur with one eye narrowed as though trying to work him out. It unnerved the Prince, "I don't believe that all who practice magic can be evil."

"Really?" The flatness of that indicated far more of a reluctance to believe than the young warlock's face did. Arthur noted it, and remained remarkably composed.

"Really." The eyebrows went up, something in Arthur reminding him that this boy and Gaius were actually related at the sight. Gaius-related eyebrows seemed to have the same effect on him as the real thing, he found with a frown. "I understand that there is evil in the hearts of men," he murmured defensively, uncomfortable the longer Merlin stared at him, "no two people are the same. We all want different things. We all have different means of getting them."

"Clear as mud."

Arthur twisted his mouth, trying to avoid the suddenly overwhelming urge to slap Merlin around the back of his head. "Much has happened in the last year or so," he managed after a moment of incredible self-control, "I have met people, and... learned things that have helped me to understand better that not everything my father says is straightforward. He is a strong King, but... as much as it pains me to admit it, sometimes he is perhaps too quick to act and too slow to listen."

Merlin did not say anything to that. He held his own views on Uther, and they were sympathetic to the man's bereavements, but not so much to his character as the diplomatic description Arthur had given. He was not in the same position as Arthur, however. The Prince probably loved Uther – the man was his father, after all – and it was difficult to recognise the flaws in a loved one. As much as he loved his own father, and knew him to be a normally laid back, quiet man, Merlin recognised Balinor's sometimes far too quick temper, and the troubles that arose from it. Even utterly incomparable to Uther's actions, he did not like to acknowledge that his father was flawed. Arthur appeared to be holding something back, but Merlin chose not to pry.

"What people?" He asked suddenly, almost surprising himself with the abruptness of his question.

Arthur looked at him a moment, searching his face carefully before answering. "People."

"That's not an answer."

"Those who do not wish harm on the Kingdom," he expanded, "who wish only for a peaceful life."

"Druids, then."

Arthur hesitated, miffed at how easily Merlin saw through his proto-lie tissue, but inclined his head. "There are a few camps within Camelot's borders. Every now and again, four or five of us run supplies out to them that they need not come into the city." Merlin was staring at him. It made the Prince uncomfortable. He tossed his head, "they mean Camelot no harm. It's not like I get nothing in return. They offered advice on magic to Mor-those who need it, and they keep giving me these bracelets." He showed Merlin the plaited leather band around his wrist. "I have an entire chest full of them."

"They're friendship bands," Merlin explained, "the children make them to trade at market."

"Really?" Arthur looked at it with perhaps a little disappointment, "I thought they were protective charms. I have the chest near my chamber door that they would work more efficiently."

Merlin shook his head at that. "Clotpole."

"Excuse me?"

No explanation was given. Merlin rolled up his own sleeve to show the almost identical band around his own wrist.

Arthur huffed. "So they give them out willy nilly."

"Thought you were special?"

"A bit." he frowned, and cocked his head at Merlin, "you know Druids as well, then?"

"They pass through now and again," Merlin evaded, "father trades his carvings and Mother takes on hemming projects for them."

Arthur sensed that he was withholding information, inferred that ' _pass through_ ' likely translated as _'live nearby and visit frequently'_ , but was gracious enough not to say anything on the subject.

"Leon," Merlin began cautiously, glancing back over his shoulder at the house, "is he one of the 'four or five'?"

Arthur shook his head, feeling perhaps a little guilty. "No. Leon is a good man. I trust him completely, but he is a dedicated Knight, and I fear it would be difficult for him to have his loyalties divided between me and my father. I wouldn't want to put him in that position."

Merlin nodded, understanding. He glanced at his flame, still flickering happily in Arthur's hands where the Prince held it as though it were precious, tiny and fragile like a gosling, and found himself wondering. Now and again as Arthur looked at it, Merlin thought that he detected sadness in his gaze, as though the magic upset him, but also as though it must be protected, kept safe from any who would seek to do it harm. It puzzled him, and made him wonder.

"Do they do much magic around you, then?"

Arthur looked at him. Merlin nodded to his flame, "you said that they helped change your mind."

Arthur hesitated, only to shrug his shoulders thoughtlessly. "There was someone else," he murmured, his expression pinched as though pained, "someone close to me who had magic. She'd known for a while before she told me, and was terrified. Of what would happen to her if she did not learn to control it, of what my father would do. I still remember her face when she told me. She said that she couldn't hide it any longer, that she felt so alone. I really didn't know what to do. We couldn't go to my father, obviously, so we went to Gaius. He admitted that he knew she had magic, that he had always suspected, and that he believed that by keeping her in ignorance, he was keeping her safe." He shook his head, weary, "there have been many lies, Merlin. So many lies that it's become difficult to tell what is false and what is reality. She had dreams about things that had yet to happen."

"A seer?"

"Apparently. There were so many times she told me to change my plans or be careful." He quirked a smile, "she even told me that my idiot servant Morris was going to hurt me. I didn't believe her until he threw a target at me."

"A target?"

"Big, wooden thing-"

"I know what a target is. Why'd he throw it at you?"

"It was during knife practice. He was running with it, must have panicked, and threw it away. I was standing too close. Hit me pretty damn hard. I missed a banquet because of it."

"Poor you."

"Shut up, Merlin."

"What happened to Morris?"

"What do you mean?"

Merlin shifted, uncomfortable, "don't servants get punished for knocking out their masters?"

"He spent the night in the dungeons by order of my father."

"Oh."

"Father allowed him to keep his job. He pushed Lady Helen of Mora out of a window. She tried to kill me as I slept, he caught her and panicked. Again. Turned out she was a witch, so it was alright."

The look on Merlin's face was not encouraging. Arthur remembered himself, and cleared his throat. "Yes. Well."

"What about your friend?" Merlin asked, changing the subject and rather intrigued himself. "What happened to her?" A horrible thought struck him, that may go some way to explain the change in Arthur's views, "did your father...?"

Arthur shook his head hurriedly, though the sadness that had hitherto been no more than a flicker became all too clear. "No. She is... missing. Something happened that put Camelot and her people in danger, and she was... a part of the solution."

Merlin did not ask any more. Arthur was grateful for that. The hurt and the sadness was still there, and he hated that it made him feel so much. How could it not? Morgana had been his sister in all but blood. She had been his lifeline on more than one occasion, and sometimes in the very literal sense. All that he knew about magic, he had learned alongside her, to help her. In the end, they were both manipulated and betrayed. He acknowledged that he had been stumbling about in the dark from the moment Morgana told him that she feared she had magic. Now he felt lost without her.

How exactly Kilgarrah had escaped, he had no idea. Who should have released him as his chain had certainly been cut, the stolen sword of one of Morgause's Knights discarded beside it, he did not know. What he could not doubt was that there had been deception involved. The dragon had lied to and manipulated both himself and Morgana from the moment she introduced him to the damn thing. Now it was destroying the very Kingdom it had pledged that he would make so great and just for all. Sod.

Despite that, he understood. There were those who wanted to see Camelot fall, such as Kilgarrah and Morgause, and the 'Lady Helen', just as there were those who meant no harm, such as Morgana, and the Druids, and Balinor. It was difficult to know who to trust sometimes. Though he believed that he could trust Balinor.

He had heard all about the last Dragonlord from Gaius, had gone to the physician off his own back as he had first suggested Balinor in order to learn all he could about the man he was going to find. Nothing Gaius said gave him reason to distrust Balinor. According to Gaius, he had been an honourable and loyal member of the court before the purge. A Lord, though he had no lands to speak of. Apparently Dragonlords were not the same as conventional Lords, though in the old order, had been considered just as noble. The man he found in this small village in the back of beyond was all that Gaius had said that he would be.

"What will happen to my father," Merlin asked suddenly, drawing Arthur from his reflection, "after he's dealt with Kilgarrah?"

The Prince was silent a moment, staring at the flame in his hands. "He will be free to go."

"Is that the truth?"

"If I have my way."

"And if you don't?"

Arthur regarded Merlin a long moment, reading the all too open expression on the boy's face. Finally, he nodded his head, unable to lay a hand on Merlin's shoulder as he should have liked due to the flame, "I swear to you. No harm will come to your father on Camelot's lands. You have my word, and I will not do anything to break my word." He gave what he hoped was an encouraging smile, "you don't have to be afraid of me."

Merlin snapped up to look at him in incredulity, "afraid? Of you?"

"Well, yes. I am a Prince. You are a serf, after all."

For a long moment, Merlin simply stared at him. Eventually, he shook his head, unable to believe it. "You really are an arrogant prat."

"You can't call me that."

"Oh, yeah?" He couldn't help it, Merlin knew he was off on one as he fell into a full out rant before his words even registered, "What are you going to do about it? Put me in the stocks? Lash me to the whipping tree up in the woods? Oh, wait. You can't. It's Cenred's tree, not yours. I'm guessing he doesn't know you're on his land? Of course he doesn't. That would be an act of war. The accord struck with Essetir – that one that took years to secure – is close to crumbling, isn't it? Trespassing would be the end of it, wouldn't it? Then what would I know? I'm just a simple peasant, aren't I?"

"... I didn't say _simple_."

"Sorry. Forgive me, _Sire_. I got it wrong. _I'm just a peasant_."

Arthur didn't say anything to that. What could he say without chancing sticking the rest of his foot in his mouth? Simple pointing out of facts offended Merlin, so what could he say? Though, it wasn't exactly a fact, was it? Merlin was actually of noble birth. As much as he may appear to be a huskless hayseed, the gangly creature in front of him was in actual fact a Lord. He was certainly as prissy as some of the others Arthur had met. He found himself intrigued by him.

He didn't know Merlin, but the boy was well aware that he was a Prince, yet showed no deference to him. Even Merlin's father was more respectful to him, and the man had good reason to throw him to the dogs, should he have had any.

Merlin was outright rude to him in challenge. That was... new. Morgana had challenged him also, but that was more along the lines of attacking his masculinity, or playing his moral fibres like a well-tuned lute. She manipulated him to do the things she wanted, and he didn't particularly mind, as she was normally right. She had also taken to smirking at him and reminding him that she could defenestrate him with a glance when he was being stubborn. Not that she would, but he had to give her something for teaching him such a brilliant word.

Leon never challenged anything he did beyond offering gentle advice in training. Guinevere had told him he was rude once or twice, but then apologised almost immediately. He hadn't much to do with her really beyond the odd interaction at Morgana's behest, though... perhaps he should like to...

Lancelot was occasionally good-naturedly pushy, usually in his limited capacity as a guard, and Morris tended to do as he was told and look a tad panicked about it. Merlin however, seemed more than happy to speak his mind, and to tell him what was what.

In this instance, that he was a prat, apparently.

Currently he was staring like a petulant housewife, much the way his mother had been staring at Will and Ganieda just prior to his escaping outside. As gentle as the woman seemed, Arthur was in no doubt that she ruled her household with the iron grip of a barbarian Queen. It was a look that could cow an army, let alone a husband and three teenaged children.

Far from angering Arthur, as his behaviour ought, Arthur found himself strangely receptive to it, and wanting to fight back.

Perhaps he shouldn't have bothered trying to reassure Merlin? He heaved a sigh, not really sure why he cared about reassuring the fool of anything. Balinor had already agreed to accompany him and Leon back to Camelot. What Merlin thought of the situation really didn't matter. Yet, here Arthur was, sat outside with him, when he was perfectly welcome at Balinor's table inside. From the moment he had set eyes on Merlin hunched over a bucket at the well, Arthur had felt drawn to him. There was something about the lanky idiot. What, he couldn't put his finger on.

Something twanged at the back of his mind – something that Aglain had said about coins and prophecies the last time he, Lancelot and Morris had run supplies out to the camp. It couldn't have been too important, or else he'd have remembered it. He vaguely recalled being talked at while watching Mordred make bird calls, but that was about it. Maybe he should have listened more closely?

Strangely disturbed, he passed the flame back into Merlin's hands, and folded his arms across his knees, watching it be shaped into different creatures as Merlin played with it thoughtlessly.

...It really couldn't have been important, or he would have remembered it, surely?

"Well," he made to stand, slapping his hands down on his thighs. "Like I said, you have my word."

"I know. I appreciate it, but it's not you I'm afraid of."

Of course. Arthur understood. _He_ could give as many assurances as he wanted, but in the end, it was not what he decided that would count. He was not the King, after all.

He did not say anything on the subject, but quietly he resolved. He may not be able to predict exactly what his father would do, but he swore to himself silently, as well as to Merlin, that he would see Balinor safely home to his family, and whatever provision would be necessary to ensure the continued safety of them all. In gratitude, of course.

He offered Merlin a nod, and went back inside the house, intent on finishing his dinner. As... delicious as it was.

Merlin watched him go, feeling conflicted.

He really didn't know what to make of any of that. Arthur was not what he seemed. Not completely. He'd heard much over the years about Uther, but nothing about Arthur beyond his existence. Certainly not that he was a smuggling baron, running a ring right under his father's nose.

Normally he would be disinclined to believe it, or that he had a seer at his disposal, but his reaction to magic was very much that of one accustomed to it, even if not wholly comfortable with it. Merlin sensed no insincerity from him, which was annoying as he so wanted to dislike Arthur.

He huffed, confused, and focused on the flame in his hands. "Upastige draca.*"

The flickering tongue of flame rose from his palm, shaped itself into a dragon, flapped its wings, and dissipated into the air. He watched the space it had occupied a moment, finding himself captivated by the idea of a dragon, when he became aware of a warm, familiar and very safe presence behind him. One that his magic still instinctively reached for.

He was unsurprised when his father sat down beside him on the bench, their shoulders bumping together in greeting. Neither of them spoke for what seemed a long moment. Instead, Merlin sighed and leant into his father's side, Balinor's arm circling him that he ended up resting his head against his father's chest. There had been a time when he was small, that his father's arms, or his mother's arms, or both were his very favourite places to be. Rarely did he seek comfort from them nowadays, but tonight he felt that he needed to. Just as he knew that Balinor needed to give it.

"What do you think of Arthur?" Balinor asked, his voice vibrating through his ribs in that way that always made Merlin feel safe and nostalgic.

"Cabbage head."

It surprised him, when his father did not laugh. Instead he felt a shift as Balinor looked down.

"Anything else?"

Merlin shrugged a shoulder. "He is a cabbage head, but a good person. I think."

"Hm." That seemed more pleasing to Balinor. "He's been reaching out to people with magic."

"He said."

"Iseldir told me a while ago. Do you know why?"

"Because he's a guilty cabbage head?" Even as he said it, Merlin knew that he did not believe it himself. Not really.

His father rubbed his arm affectionately, but did not say anything more on the subject of Arthur, or mention his boy's cuddly mood. A sure sign of unrest in his son. He remained uneasy, and drew a breath instead, looking up at the darkening sky. When he did speak, it was a low murmur, and not what Merlin expected to hear.

"I've tried. Gods know I have tried, but it seems there's no hiding from it any longer."

Unsure, Merlin looked up at his father, finding him with an unusually pensive expression. "Hiding from what? What is it?"

Balinor blinked, unwilling to look his son in the eye, something that made Merlin exceedingly nervous. The Dragonlord shook his head. "Fate and destiny are cruel masters, son. They make us dance to the tune they have set for us, however much we may try and change them for the ones we love. Your mother and I have made a decision."

"Decision?"

Balinor nodded, and turned his gaze up on the sky once more. "You're coming with me to Camelot tomorrow."

Merlin sat up at that, a frown on his face, "but what about mother and Ganieda? If you-you don't-"

"William can look after things here for a while," Balinor assured him, straight faced. "He is perfectly capable, when he gets his head out the clouds, and knows the plan should Camelot Knights come. They will be alright."

"And Uther?" Merlin pressed, "what will he do to us?"

"You'll be fine, boy." The lack of 'we'll' did not go beneath Merlin's notice. "It is important that you be there, when I face Kilgarrah." With a warm smile, Balinor laid his hand on Merlin's shoulder, pride clear in his voice as he told him "I have no doubt that you will be a Dragonlord one day. I want you to know what it is to face a dragon, as does your mother. It is a part of you that you must know. With only one dragon remaining, this may be the only chance you have."

Merlin searched his father's face a moment, seeing the sincerity, the whole-hearted belief there, but also a shadow. If he didn't know better, he would say that it was perhaps regret. He nodded, "I understand, father."

And he did. It was something he wanted wholeheartedly, to engage with that part of himself he had been trained so diligently to observe. This may well be the only chance he got to face a dragon, and he did not want to pass it up.

Pleased, Balinor ruffled his hair, gazing at him with what his mother termed his 'soppy' look. "You're a good boy, Merlin. I'm proud of you."

"Thank you, father."

Balinor's smile became soft, the slight shake of his head nothing if not emotional. "When did it stop being 'da'?"

Chuckling, Merlin shrugged.

On one level, he could not be more exited about going to Camelot on the morrow. As frightening as the prospect was, he knew that the excitement rose from the chance to finally see the place for himself after hearing so many tales of the city, and that finally, he would get to meet a dragon. The idea left him almost breathless with excitement, something that his father picked up on, and chuckled about.

To finally meet Kilgarrah... It was something that stayed with Merlin throughout the evening, that kept him from sleep far longer than Arthur's and Sir Leon's snores, and the hushed conversation between an escaped Ganieda and Will through the window. Eventually, however, he managed to drift off to sleep, alternating between anxiety and anticipation for what may come tomorrow.

* * *

As the small party of four rode out the following morning, Hunith stood with her daughter and adopted son on the path, waving their goodbyes and swallowing their anxieties as the horses moved out of sight beyond the trees at the top of the beech field.

\- "What sort of a name is _Mud_?!"

"He's brown! What sort of a name is _Spumador_?"

"A perfectly fine name for a great war horse!"

"It sounds like snot and spit. Like he's got a horrible disease and can't stop foaming."

"It does not! At least he's alive. Which is more than I can say for that sack of bones."

"Mud's old. He's been my pony since I was little."

"Horse, _Me_ rlin. Only little _girls_ have ponies." -

Even then, she knew in her heart that only one would return. For all their hiding him from it, destiny had finally caught up with her baby, now a young man, and his life would never be the same.

\- "It can barely stand. Are you sure it can make it to Camelot?"

"He'll be fine! There's nothing wrong with him."

"Most people bury an animal once its dead. They don't ride it halfway across the countryside."

"That's really mean. Don't listen, Mud."

"Oh, now you're talking to it like it's people?"

"He is people. Got a better personality that you."

"Oh great. I'm less agreeable than a dead animal."

"He's not dead!" -

As the Druids had told her beloved and herself so many times, there were two sides to every coin. Emrys' path had crossed with that of the Once and Future King. The golden age of Albion was on its way at long last.

\- "You know I'll have to have Morris bury it when we get to Camelot. It'll attract crows."

"Charming."

"There's nothing charming about a horde of crows, Merlin. Loud and messy, and eat everything in sight."

"Just as charming as you, then."

"Pardon?"

"There wasn't any cake left for anyone else this morning, was there?"

"Are you calling me fat?"

"If the belt fits."

"I _am not_ fat!"

"You're a dollophead."

"That's not even a word." -

Even as she feared for her son, that thought brought her greater comfort than she would have imagined.

\- "'Tis."

"Alright. Describe 'dollophead'."

"In two words?"

"Yeah."

"Prince Arthur."

"Right!-"

"Ow!"

"Sire!"

"Merlin!"

"Oof!"

"... Pair of bloody idgets." -

She forced a smile, watching the two figures fallen from their horses wrestling in the long grass just beyond the trees. Yes, her Merlin had found the second side of his coin, and now his destiny could truly begin.

* * *

 _Fullgearwe_

* * *

*Upastige draca – Dragon, rise.

 **AN:** And there we have it. Thank you all so much for staying with this, and all the wonderful feedback and reviews you gave, and all who followed and favourited. Especially to Patiku, DwaejiTokki, Kas3y, The Hope Lions and Drag0nst0rm. You guys have been amazing and been the suppliers of lovely conversations over the past couple of weeks. Thank you again! For one of the stupid little stories I wrote just for the sake of writing and my own enjoyment, the response to this has been more than I ever thought it would be. Really glad I published it now, seeing as so many enjoyed it. I hope you all enjoyed this novel-length epilogue. Also that it answered some questions, as well as posed some more. The idea that outside forces will intervene to set destiny right is one I love toying with, and I wanted to try an open to magic Arthur as he was heading that way so nicely at the beginning :( One who still needs Merlin, though, as he's got a long way to go in himself, and a lot to learn about magic.

It's not the end for this little world. There will be some bonus chapters going up as and when, now that I'm back at work. They'll be stepping back a bit, and not continuing on from here though. Some questions may be answered in the bonus chapters, or they may not. What happens from here on in this world is entirely up to you and what you choose to believe. X


	11. Bonus chapter 1

Κεφάλαια επιδομάτων

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Bonus Chapters - One

When Hunith woke it was with a sense of warmth, and to a sensation she had not felt in years. She woke in the arms of another, or one arm, more specifically. Balinor lay on his back, one arm around her where she lay cuddled up against him, the other wrapped around Merlin where their boy slept soundly on his other side.

There was barely enough room in her little bed for two, certainly not three. She and Balinor always had fit together like pieces of the same puzzle however they lay. Merlin, though small enough that he took up almost no space at all, would still have taken up too much. Balinor had suggested that he take the floor the previous evening, while she and Merlin had the bed, but Hunith would hear none of it. Sleeping beside him had been one of her favourite things. So they had all ended up cwtched in together, bundled in a heap of blankets on the ground near the hearth when it came time for bed. At which point Balinor had lazily promised (without prompt) to build a bigger bed for himself and her, and a little one for Merlin. He would keep true to his word, she knew. He loved to have his projects to work on.

Content, she shuttered her eyes and ran a finger over the faint line of one of Balinor's ribs. This was bliss to her, to have the three of them together under one roof. For the first time, Merlin truly was theirs as they both knew him, and they his, as he knew them.

It had worried her to begin with, how exactly Merlin would react once she told him who Balinor was to him, but she needn't have. The thought of it all brought a smile to her face as she pictured the scene over again in her mind's eye.

* * *

 _Merlin was washing his hands in the bucket beside the hearth – something that he had hitherto always needed prompting to remember – when she and Balinor walked in. He looked up at them both with such a bright, toothy grin, she could not help but smile back._

 _On the short walk down the path Balinor had told her how he had described their relationship to Merlin. She considered the information carefully, and called softly to her child to bring him to her._

 _He rose from cleaning his hands and padded over to his mother, still with that beautiful smile._

 _Hunith took him by the shoulders and looked him over as though unable to believe that he was truly there, once again so relieved to have him back, and unharmed. She glanced over her shoulder to see Balinor's nervous smile, and returned her attention to their boy once more._

 _"You know Balinor, Merlin," she began gently, brushing a few stray hairs from her babe's forehead, fussing unconsciously. "He's my friend, and he looked after you, didn't he?"_

 _Merlin nodded, directing his lovely bright smile up at Balinor. "He looked after me," he stated, becoming serious to see that his mother had her own serious face on. The face that usually meant he needed to be good and listen._

 _Hunith went on, "Balinor is my friend, but he is a very special type of friend. You see, he was going to be my husband."_

 _Merlin understood that, and nodded his head readily. He knew what that meant as that was what Sam was to Maria because they were married. People got married sometimes when they loved each other._

 _He looked at Balinor, realising suddenly that his mam must love Balinor if they were going to get married. He grinned, approving. Balinor was a good person for his mam to love._

 _Hunith tufted at one of Merlin's curls, her smile becoming sad. "Uther's men were chasing him. They came to the village looking for him, so he had to leave, to keep us all safe."_

 _Merlin listened, thoughtful, and nodded his head. Even so young, he understood the dangers of knowing somebody who had magic. His mam had taught him, so that he would be careful to make sure that he never told anyone. Magic had to be a secret, never to be shown to anyone._

 _Hunith gazed at him adoringly, "and then you were born, my sweet boy, and I wasn't alone anymore. It was the two of us."_

 _Again Merlin nodded, becoming downcast. The other children liked to tease him about that, being the only one in the village with just one parent. It had always made him sad, but it was something he could not change._

 _"Mam," he said seriously, and brushed a hand over her cheek. "No da."_

 _Hunith smiled at him, unable but to at how positive he had always tried to remain about it. She knew what the other boys had said, when he came home crying after they invited him out to play. Gently, she shook her head. "That's not true, sweetheart. You do have a father."_

 _Merlin appeared taken aback by that. He looked at his mother quizzically, only for her to turn him around to face Balinor, her hands resting gently on his shoulders._

 _Hunith smiled up at her intended, giving him a nod that he would be prepared for a reaction of some kind. To Merlin she told him quietly, "Balinor is your father, love."_

 _Merlin did not need to think or absorb that. He flew from his mother's hold across the short distance to Balinor and threw himself at the man, caught up in his father's arms to be held, and hold back as tightly as he could. He buried his face in the crook of Balinor's neck, his voice muffled, but the word he repeated over and over again clear as day to both Balinor and Hunith, 'da.'_

 _Balinor held onto him, doing his damnedest to bite back the sobs choking his throat and stem the tears blurring his eyes. "Hello, son."_

 _Merlin burst into tears, wailing as he had when reunited with his mother. Balinor rubbed his back in soothing circles, trying to calm him. To no avail. Already crouching, he sat on the ground, pulling Merlin into his lap that he could cuddle the crying boy closer, shushing and reassuring him._

 _Merlin cried for some time, absolutely overcome. He had an understanding of things no child of his age should, borne out of necessity. Despite that, he could not grasp that his father was with him. Hunith understood. From the tiny amount of time she had seen them together, it was clear that Merlin adored Balinor. To find out that the man was actually his father must be too good to be true._

 _But it was true. Eventually, Merlin cried himself out and fell asleep in in Balinor's arms, only to wake about an hour later in his mother's bed and spend the rest of the afternoon showing Balinor all of his toys._

* * *

It was all so perfect. Hunith sighed to herself, propped up on her elbow that she may lean down and kiss her beloved's cheek. In response, Balinor grunted loudly in his sleep. She smiled at him, trying not to laugh, and leant over him that she may stroke Merlin's hair.

Carefully as she could, she extracted herself from Balinor's arm without waking him, and rose to greet the day – the first day with her little family complete.

Immediately she was gone, Balinor sighed and rolled onto his side to loop both arms around Merlin, the sleepy little boy snuggling to his chest automatically. The sight sent Hunith's heart a flutter. Her boys, together as they should be. She could barely contain her happiness.

As she changed into her day dress and brushed her hair up under her scarf, Hunith felt happier than she had for a long time. Feeling light, she lit the fire to begin breakfast and rouse her man and boy for the day ahead.

* * *

Κεφάλαια επιδομάτων

* * *

AN: So, trying to get out of the habit of writing notes not containing information relevant to the actual story, but in this case just wanted to say that I haven't forgotten the bonus chapters. I moved house - NEVER AGAIN - and wasn't connected to the net until the 7th of October. I did reply to everyone with an account who reviewed the epilogue, but the connection towards the end at the old place meant that a good chunk of replies didn't end up going through. Which was annoying as a few were rather long. If you didn't get it, I'm not a rude cowbag, BT are just evil :|

This one is only short, I know. I don't think any of them are overly long, but not all are as fluffy as this. Hope everyone enjoyed! Next one in the week! xx


	12. Bonus chapter 2

Κεφάλαια επιδομάτων

* * *

Bonus Chapters - Two

Autumn was fast drawing to a close. The air was becoming cool, scented with the sweet musk of leaf mould and filled with the chattering of squirrels. Two wrestled at the foot of a nearby ash, having fallen foul of choosing the same hiding place for their winter hazelnuts. Merlin watched them from his seat upon a mossy old stump in the clearing. He popped a hazelnut of his own in his mouth and chewed thoughtfully as he observed the animals squabbling. The squirrels and villagers had already harvested most of the nuts and berries – something that had upset him immensely halfway through the morning when breakfast had passed, but it was still too early to eat the lunch tucked into Mud's saddlebag. He had been incredibly hungry and moody because of it, so his father had hunted out some of the remaining nuts growing too high up in the trees to have been casually picked, and climbed up to stand on Mud's back in order to reach them. The young horse was so dopey that he barely noticed anything different, only flicked an ear lazily when Balinor jumped down into the fallen leaves and began cracking nutshells between his teeth. There had been more than enough to keep a grizzly child occupied until lunchtime. Merlin picked up another and bit the pointed top off.

It had been a nice day so far. Just the two of them as Sam was home for a few days and wanted to spend time with Maria and Will. His mother was busy with housework, and looking after the little Dorking hens that they had been given by old Millicent, or the 'runaway nun*' as Sam called her, before she passed. What Sam meant by 'runaway nun', Merlin had never understood, but he had once seen her throw chicken feed at Sam for saying it when she could hear him, and heard her shout "Sard, Samuel! by God's Bones, get gone or so help me!*". There had been more, but Merlin had not heard as his mother had pressed her hands over his ears and guided him away to the house making choking noises. Millicent was strange. Her hens had become thin and scraggly in the last weeks of her life, so they had been turned over to Hunith on the chance that she may be able to save them, and so required a lot of care. Lady Geretrudis had started to lay eggs, which was a good sign apparently, but Merlin didn't ask for details of why. He just liked having chickens around. He popped the remainder of the hazelnut in his mouth and turned his attention on the battling squirrels once more.

He and his father had hunted around for small sticks to store as kindling until lunchtime when they had stopped to eat. Afterwards, his father had used magic to fell a tree and took up his axe to cut it into logs. It was rather a big tree, so would take a while to move it all back to the village storehouse. Balinor had elected to cut up as much as he could manage for the day, then began to split the logs ready to take back with them in the evening.

Merlin looked up from the squirrels, to his father where he placed another log on the big oak tree stump across the clearing, and took a small practice swing before cleaving the log cleanly in half. It looked an impressive thing to be able to do, Merlin reckoned, and one day he would be able to split logs like his father, he was sure. Not yet, though. His father had told him he was too small to use the axe at the moment. He had promised Merlin that he would teach him to split logs when he was older, just like he would show him how to fell just one tree with his magic, and not five as he would have done that morning when he tried to help, had his father not stopped him. He did want to help, but for now he could not. So he picked up his wooden pony and dragon from the folds of his father's tunic where it sat crumpled up in his lap, and concentrated on playing with them instead.

He may have had the pony longest, but the dragon was definitely his favourite. It was called Kilgarrah, after his father's dragon who was chained up in Camelot by the mad King. His father had made it for him out of the wood that was left over after making the new beds. Though he had more toys than he knew what to do with, the dragon and the pony were still the most special of all, and they went everywhere with him without fail. Smiling at the two carvings, he devised a game with them to amuse himself, unaware of it when his father paused between logs to lean on his axe and watch his antics with a soft smile.

Life wasn't really that different now that Balinor was home. Most days Merlin stayed in the house and helped his mother with her work, or learned his letters the same as always. The only real differences came at the beginning and end of the day, when his father got ready to leave for the fields and when he came back and busied himself with tasks before dinner, mending things and making mess for mother to clean up the following day. Sometimes when there was nothing to mend, the two of them would practice magic and then mother would read to them both, though Merlin got the impression that the stories were _really_ meant for just him.

He puzzled, staring at Kilgarrah a moment in thought. If the snares were good, then sometimes father would make dinner. Mother couldn't skin the rabbits at the moment because her stomach was weak, so father would tell her to sit down and rest while he did it instead. Mother was usually happy now as well. She didn't get sad like she had used to – sometimes when she looked at him. She would always say that she wasn't sad, but he knew that she wasn't telling him the truth. That had always confused him, but he understood now that she was sad because she missed father. Sometimes when she looked at him, she had said, she realised just how much he looked like Balinor, and it made her miss him.

Though, these last few days she had seemed to be in a bad mood with everyone. She was having some 'snarky' days, as father put it, where she snapped at people and everything seemed to annoy her. Merlin frowned, and turned Kilgarrah over in his hands. If mother snapped at him then she was always sorry after, and she didn't shout at him the way she shouted at father. She didn't push him like she had pushed father, either, or tell him to get out and sleep in the barn.

… It seemed like she was always annoyed with father.

"Why is mam angry with you all the time?" Merlin asked suddenly, looking up at his father.

Balinor hesitated, glancing at Merlin briefly before splitting another log. "Well... son..." he reached for another, positioning it atop the stump and readying his axe, "her moods are all over the place at the moment, and that makes her feel irritable."

"She says you're a pain in the bum!" Merlin told him happily, kicking his legs back and forth where they dangled over the edge of his tree stump seat.

Balinor nodded in concession, "that I am," and split the log clean.

Merlin grinned and went on, "she says it's your fault and she should have chucked cold water over you!"

Balinor paused, and took up a lean on his axe, his expression pensive. Clearly Merlin did not understand what Hunith had meant by that, but still - "She said that to you?"

Merlin shook his head. "No. She told it to Maria."

"Ah. Right. That makes sense." Balinor took up his axe and returned to splitting logs, pausing again as Merlin asked,

"What's your fault?"

"The baby, Merlin."

"Oh." Merlin wrinkled his nose in uncertainty, "how?"

Balinor managed a small, amused smile, and hefted the axe in his hands. "I'll tell you when you're older." He split the log and reached for another.

Merlin did not ask anything further. There were things he didn't need to know until he was older, usually things he was told that he needn't worry about until then, so returned to playing with Kilgarrah. Babies were something you got when you got a lady-friend, as he understood it. He didn't have a lady-friend, and didn't need one of those until he was older, so was satisfied with not knowing for now.

He looked up, finding that his father had put his axe aside and was walking towards him. Automatically he held his arms out to be picked up. His father obliged, giving a little grunt as he made to sit on the stump himself, and to sit Merlin on his lap. "You're getting heavy, boy."

"M'growing."

"You are. It's good." Balinor reached down for the waterskin beside the stump, offering it to Merlin before taking some himself. "Need to get some meat on you before winter," he told the boy at the tail-end of a swallow, and put the skin back down beside the stump.

Merlin nodded sagely, not looking forward to winter, yet not quite sure why it was important that he have meat on him. He imagined it would be rather unpleasant, but probably necessary somehow if it was important. Sometimes he still didn't understand the way his father spoke.

He did not question it. Instead he stuck his thumb in his mouth and curled into Balinor's chest, feeling sleepy. Not quite drifting off, he raised a hand and poked lightly at his father's shoulder. "Dragon."

A smile on his face, Balinor glanced down to see which tattoo Merlin meant this time. "That's Enyo. The warlike one."

Merlin blinked up at him, anticipation practically glowing on his face at prospect of a story. Each of the patterns inked across his father's skin told a story. Balinor had explained that the patterns all meant something specific, and that they were how their people, the Dragonlords, wrote their stories. Together they told the story of his life and those of the dragons in it. In the very old days, when there had been many Dragonlords and they all gathered in one place, they could identify one another's family line and abilities by the marks and passed on the stories of those they had met by word of mouth, thus adding to an ancient and extensive oral history. It was a tradition still observed. Until recently...

The intricate knots and swirls decorating his father's back and shoulders meant that he was a Dragonlord with magic, and each of the dragons woven into the pattern were ones that he had tamed. There were lots, by Merlin's count. All of the dragons had names and individual stories, but by far the best was the big picture of Kilgarrah over his father's whole back. Kilgarrah had the best story so far. Enyo was much smaller than Kilgarrah and the others Merlin had asked about, but she looked very fierce.

Balinor adjusted his seat on the stump, and took Merlin's hand to gently pull his thumb from his mouth. He was getting too old for that, Merlin knew, but it didn't stop him doing it.

"We were called to Renfrew," his father began, "-that's a border town near Caerleon's Kingdom – to deal with a dragon that had been attacking the guard post nearby..."

As Balinor spoke, Merlin listened, trying to stay awake. His father's voice gained a soporific quality when he started telling stories, normally meant to help him nod off as the tales were normally told at bedtime. It had been a long day, and try as he might, Merlin could not stay awake. His thumb found its way back into his mouth, his eyes drifted shut of their own accord, and he was asleep.

* * *

When he awoke it was to find himself laid in the grass, bundled up in his father's warm coat. Smacking his lips, Merlin sat up and rubbed at his eyes to chase away the bleariness.

Balinor had not left, as Merlin knew he would not have, but was in the process of securing the log bags either side of Mud's saddle. Evening had arrived, and as he had finished the hot work, had put his tunic back on and looked for all intents and purposes about ready to return to Ealdor.

He seemed to sense that Merlin had woken, as he glanced back over his shoulder to meet his son's curious eyes with a warm smile. "You ready to go, boy?"

Sleepily, Merlin nodded and rubbed at one eye again before getting to his feet. He put Balinor's coat on properly and made to cross the clearing to him, stayed by his gentle, but oh so important reminder:

"Have you got little Mud and Kilgarrah?"

Merlin paused and shook his head, grabbing the wooden pony and dragon and running the few steps to meet his father, the majority of the long and very over-sized coat dragging through the leaves behind him with a loud rustle.

Balinor gathered up the ream of folded linen he used to carry the kindling and slung it around his shoulders that it hung comfortably at his back, and reached for Mud's reins.

Merlin looked up at him with an unhappy frown. "I want to help."

Balinor regarded his son fondly, and reached over his shoulder to take a few of the sticks from his bundle to hand to the boy. What was a few to him constituted an armful for Merlin. The little boy was pleased to be a part of things, and carried his bundle of kindling proudly.

He trotted along at his father's side, making his way back to the village and the promise of a warm meal and bed. Despite his short sleep, he felt more than ready for another.

* * *

Evening had well and truly drawn in, and it was starting to get cold. Merlin was glad to give up his kindling bundle at the storehouse, and sat down in the short grass to wait while the logs were put away and Balinor tended to Mud.

Once the horse was fed and turned loose in the meadow, Merlin got to his feet and held out his hand to his father. It wasn't far to get home. Merlin felt glad of that as he was practically dragged along by Balinor. His legs didn't want to obey him, so he walked more slowly than he usually did. Even at a reduced pace of his own Balinor had trouble keeping step.

"Someone looks tired."

Merlin looked up to see Sam leaning on the fence, looking back at him with an amused grin. He returned it and greeted the man with a small wave.

Balinor halted beside the fence and turned his back to it that he may lean himself. "S'been a long day," he told his friend with a gusty sigh.

"Find any good wood?"

Balinor nodded. "Mm. The elm up by the burn.*"

"Out by the old mill?" Sam clicked his tongue. "I know the one. Big old tree."

"She was at the end of her span," Balinor replied quietly, "would have blown over in the storms by winter's end."

"She didn't mind?"

"Her dryad's long gone. It's time."

Sam blinked. "Anyone would think you're a loony, hearing talk like that these days."

Balinor simply shrugged in return. The old ways were disappearing so quickly -

"It's contagious. I'm a loony, too." Sam nudged him in the shoulder blade, "would have to be, to be mates with you."

"Leave off." Balinor shoved Sam back and scrubbed a hand over his face with a huff.

"You look knackered," Sam observed laughingly. "Put the offspring to bed and we'll go over and filch some scrumpy from Simmonds' stash."

Balinor frowned, confused. "Won't Maria be wanting to see you?"

"Nah." Sam shook his head. "She's asleep already. Spent all day scandalising with Hunith. She and Will are out for the night."

"Hm." Balinor considered the offer a moment, and looked down at Merlin where his son looked back up at him drowsily. He palmed the side of Merlin's head affectionately, wrapping an arm around him as his child cuddled into his side with a barely audible sigh. "I'll get this one settled and meet y'at the pig's cot. If Hunith's been busy she won't want to be dealing with me tonight."

Sam's grin twitched wider. "The mighty Dragonlord can't tame the dragon, eh?"

Balinor rubbed frustratedly at his forehead. "Mood swings. I don't know what I've done wrong most of the time."

"You really need to ask?" Sam chuckled.

"Wasn't just me," came the defensive grumble.

"No, but you really want to point that out to her?"

"I've given up on that. I value my life too much."

"Probably wise." Sam laid a mock consoling hand on his friend's shoulder. "It'll pass."

Merlin blinked up at them, sucking absently on his thumb and totally oblivious to what they were talking about. He was very tired, though, so quietly tugged at the hem of his father's tunic.

Balinor smiled, and reached for his hand. "Alright, son." He glanced at Sam, "see you at the pig's cot in a candlemark."

Sam nodded, looking up across the village as he went to turn from the fence. "oh," he winced, "that's if you live that long."

"What?"

"Farewell!" Sam turned and scurried away behind the bakehouse, leaving Balinor rather confused, until he felt the sudden vicious grip on his arm, heard the angry huff and unknowingly mimicked Sam's wince.

"Lord Ambrosius."

His stomach clenched while his heart fluttered with delight. He wiped his expression blank and turned to face his doom. "Yes, Lady Ambrosius?"

Hunith released him and stood back to meet his eyes, her fists balled on her hips. "Where have you been?" She asked, low and deadly. "Dinner has been on the table for hours. It is stone cold. Merlin should be in bed."

Balinor raised his hands in a placating gesture, "I'll sort it, love. Just... be calm."

"I will not be calm!" She barked, her voice shaky. "Where were you? I've been waiting for you!"

Balinor swallowed, guilt panging at his guts, and laid his hands on her shoulders, massaging small circles with his thumbs. "Where I said I would be. In the woods, chopping wood," he murmured, voice soft. "Sat down to take a break and got telling Merlin a story. Both nodded off. Set me back a touch, that's all."

Hunith released the breath she had been holding. Her shoulders sagged. She pressed a hand to her head. "Oh, Balinor."

He gave her a soft smile, and drew her into his arms. "I know."

She buried her face in his shoulder. "You must think me an ogre."

"I'd have said troll, but both fit well."

She thumped her forehead against his shoulder, silencing him before his foot disappeared completely into his mouth. "I know it's silly, but I worry. The thought of waking and finding you gone again, or that you simply won't return of an evening... I can't go through that again."

His hand running up and down her back felt comforting, soothing her fears as she believed only he could. "You won't have to, love," he assured her in a quiet tone, "I'm not going anywhere without you."

Hunith nuzzled into his shoulder, twisting up two handfuls of his tunic. "I know."

"... Unless you take the frying pan to my head, but to be fair, I doubt anything could keep me here should you knock the brains from my skull."

She pinched him lightly through the flimsy cloth of his tunic. "I know that I am a little moody at the moment – ah!"

Balinor pressed his lips together, assuring her that he would say nothing. She lowered her threatening finger, "I don't mean to be."

"I understand, Hunith. Things will come right once Sprog arrives, and the four of us are settled. We'll be alright."

She nodded, and threaded her arms beneath his that she could hold him tightly. Shaking her head, she gave a quiet sigh. "What did I do to deserve you?"

"Something atrocious, I imagine."

She huffed a laugh, and pulled back to look up at him. "What were you and Sam conspiring about?"

Balinor shrugged. "Robbery. He wants that I should help him divest Old man Simmons' shed of some of its fine cider."

"Hm," she smiled knowingly. "Enjoy that."

"You don't want me to stay home?"

Hunith regarded him lovingly a moment, brushing a thumb over his cheekbone. "Spend some time with Sam before he leaves. Merlin and I will still be here in the morning."

"You won't execute me for it?"

"Make dinner edible again and I won't change my mind on it."

He smiled at that, and placed a kiss on her crown.

Taking Merlin's hand, the three of them made their way home to a delicious, reheated dinner.

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* Millicent is probably an ex-nun, though I don't wish to speculate further on her colourful past. She would have had money, as the convent was somewhere for upper class ladies without husbands as well as the genuinely religious, and she was probably big into her books and philosophy.

* Sard is the forerunner to the f word.

* Burn - stream

Sorry it's late. Thanks for the lovely reviews last chapter! Hope this one fills a hole, rushed as it is. There are going to be four bonus chapters in all. Hopefully they'll be up in the next two weeks as my one day off work becomes two for a little while :) The last actually has substance. Next however, something a little less silly/fluffy... xxx


	13. Bonus chapter 3

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Bonus Chapters - Three

The small house was quiet. Outside, Ealdor slept. The harvest was in. The snow would come and for the next few days, all would be silence.

Hunith lay on her side, her cheek resting atop her arm folded beneath her head. Balinor lay staring back at her, mirroring her position with a sleepiness she did not yet possess. Between them, Ganieda lay on her back, asleep finally. She would need putting down in her crib soon, but not just yet. The house was warm, the cold night outside kept at bay by the flickering of the bright flames in the hearth. The quilt was soft, the pillows softer, filled with down now instead of hay.

Hunith looked at her husband; at the contentment on his face, and that silly, too big ear poking through his hair. He was weary, she knew. His muscles were tired, dulled with an ache that had settled deep in his joints from the long week of work.

Mud had lamed the previous week. Cast a shoe and cracked his hoof when Sam took him at the gallop to Engerd to fetch their physician for Dai the mason, after his stones had fallen and crushed his leg. The harvest had to be brought in by hand. All had to help, including her with Ganieda in a sling at her back. Matthew had predicted that the snows would come early this year. As all in the village now knew, he had never been wrong before. Balinor had stayed out in the fields long after the sun had set and many had returned to their homes, with Carl and Lucas and Sion to ensure that the grain was in before the first flakes fell.

And fall they did. In heavy flakes of goosedown spiralling past the cracks in the window shutters, catching the firelight with flashes of bright silver.

When he finally returned, Hunith had bade her husband strip, and bathed his back and shoulders in warm water mixed with a concoction of Gaius' design, and prepared him a draught to ward off stiffness. They enjoyed a chicken, slaughtered to mark the end of the harvest and coming of winter, and were to retire for the night, only to get so far.

Now she smiled at him, where he should be. At her side. They lay atop the quilt she had made when Merlin was new, and the village still covered with heavy snow at the end of winter, on the bed carved with dragons that Balinor had built, their heads resting on pillows four of his carvings and one of her pots had paid for, their daughter between them.

Merlin was not there. He would be curled up asleep beneath furs and blankets in Sam's home next door with Will, tired out after a long afternoon playing. It did Sam good to have both Merlin and Will to occupy him whilst he was home. Since Maria's passing in the summer, it helped him to keep his mind occupied. Hunith could not help but feel a twinge of guilt, thinking of Maria.

Her friend had travelled to the village of Blackwater, to the East of Ealdor to tend to her ailing sister. The village was gripped by the sweating sickness. Many had died already, and as always, Eldred had no interest in the fates of his people in the outlying lands. Maria had a little knowledge of healing that Hunith had taught her during those times she had assisted with treatments in Ealdor. There would be little that she could do, but Maria had been duty bound to go to her sister. Hunith had offered to go with her, but knew that realistically, as Maria did, she could not travel while so close to time with Ganieda, nor to a plague bound village. Neither could Balinor and his knowledge be spared when Ealdor's preparations for winter were so far under way. Maria knew that, but had been grateful for her friend's offer, and also the herbs and equipment that Hunith had given her for use in her ministrations.

Maria caught the sickness while tending to her sister, and succumbed in a matter of days, while her sister recovered. According to Sam, his sister-in-law was not grateful at all for Maria's care, and believed that what had to be was. They would not be speaking to one another again.

Knowing that she could not have accompanied Maria, Hunith did, and yet did not understand the guilt she felt. Balinor had likened it to the guilt he had felt at surviving the purge as the last of his kind. For a long time he had lamented the fact that he alone had survived, and did not see why it should have been him specifically that did. She was experiencing something similar, though not as acute.

Sam had tried to keep himself busy. Having Will to look after had helped greatly, as had looking after Merlin.

Yet it seemed a little unnerving, not having Merlin in the house overnight. He was just next door, and perfectly safe. As much as Balinor, then she, then Balinor again had stood from the table during dinner to go round and fetch him back, he was happy spending time with Sam and Will.

Hunith gazed at her husband again, noted the subtle flutter of his lashes as he began to drift off to sleep, and reached out to run her fingers down his bare arm.

Balinor blinked and raised his eyes to look back at her, and gave such a loving smile she felt butterflies fluttering in her belly. He took her fingers and kissed them lightly one by one before threading them with his own atop the quilt, gazing back at her, feeling no cold in their cosy, fire lit home despite the so hastily oncoming winter outside.

"Chicken was nice," he told her in a quiet tone, mindful of Ganieda.

Hunith felt her own lips twitch. "It was."

"Plenty left over for soup."

"More than enough stock."

He shrugged against the bedding, adjusting his cheek against his arm, and blinked at her again. "Probably be snowbound tomorrow. I'll get started on those chairs Alfred asked for."

"Has he decided what he wants on them?"

"Chickens," Balinor answered impassively. "Sam's been calling them his cocks all week."

Despite herself, Hunith almost snorted. "Oh, God."

Balinor broke a grin, clearly finding the whole thing more amusing than he was willing to let on. His smile fell away a little, his expression becoming pensive as he stroked Ganieda's cheek with the back of one forefinger. "Hope he'll be pleased with them. We could do with the coin."

Hunith palmed his cheek, a reassuring smile on her face. "I'm sure he will be."

"Only wanted 'em 'cause he saw our bed."

"Of course. Who wouldn't want something like that in their home?"

He did not seem to agree with that, but did not say anything about it. Instead he turned his gaze down on Ganieda as she mouthed in her sleep. "Dreaming 'bout food," he said aloud to himself, and looked up at Hunith with such a warm, amused grin on his face that she felt she did not need the fire to stave off the cold.

She brought her fingers back to his shoulder, tracing them light across his collarbone. "Emeis drakon peto psila," she murmured, tracing the words hidden among the knots and swirls covering his arms and shoulders. "We soar with dragons." Her pronunciation was off, she knew. It was not possible for her to correctly speak words of Dragontongue, even if she remembered how to read the words Balinor had taught her before he had run.

He had been proud of her for how quickly she had learnt to read the strange symbols that made up the language shared by his people and their dragons, and loved her all the more for her sharp mind. From his smile, she saw that he was still proud of her for it.

Thoughtful, she traced the outline of a dragon, one of the many graduating to the depiction of Kilgarrah very few got to see. The sight of it left her breathless, as did the memory of the Great dragon himself. More than once had she seen him with her own eyes, soaring over the towers of Camelot as she walked the market during her visits with Gaius. Dragons had not been a rare sight, then, but Kilgarrah with his great age, all knowing eyes and golden scales was still in a class of his own. A contradiction to the skinny, awkward and wild-haired boy he called his Lord.

Balinor bloomed late, she recalled with an amused smile. Even when he came of age he had still looked rather out of place in his over-sized maille, trailing Uther around the citadel, attempting to make his reports while breathless. As much as he would have just slid from Kilgarrah's back, fresh from a patrol of the Kingdom's borders, he did not appear as one would expect a man with the power to control dragons. He could have been anyone. A simple country bumpkin fresh off the last hay cart to roll into town.

Whatever he was, Hunith had thought him charming in his own unique way, and found herself greatly attracted to him even then. By the time the purge began, and Gaius sent him to her, he had become a man, though not quite grown into his shoulders. In their time together, girlish fancy became deep affection, and finally a love that could endure unexpected separation. Her father had always remarked that some things were meant to be, usually over things that were out of his control. She believed he may have been right. Perhaps she and Balinor were simply meant to be?

She certainly liked to think so, lying beside him with their girl-child between them, mutually pining for their boy despite his being separated from them by a single stone wall. The thought made her smile, and she returned her gaze to the patterns inked into his skin and heaved a sigh. "So beautiful," she breathed, taken by them.

"On a manky hide," Balinor breathed back, mimicking her lovelorn tone.

"Be quiet you," Hunith chastised him, and flicked his nose, holding in laughter. "You always spoil it."

"What?"

"The moment."

"Was that a moment?" He narrowed one eye at her in defiance. "I am Balinor, destroyer of moments, ruiner of romance, scourge of - mmph."

She glowered at him, her finger placed squarely on his lips in demand of silence. "You'll wake the baby."

He stuck his tongue out at her, despite her warning, spluttering as she grabbed it between two fingertips and refused to let go.

They were both laughing too loud now, both aware of the child sleeping far less soundly than she had been between them. With difficulty, they controlled themselves, she allowing him to put his tongue away, he rolling onto his back to look up at the thatch above.

Balinor tucked his arm behind his head and huffed. "Want to get Merlin."

"He'll be fast asleep by now," Hunith reminded him.

He nodded. "Mm hm. Lying on his back, arm over his head. Popping his lips like he does sometimes... I want him."

He moved to get up, stayed by her hand on his forearm, "He'll be grumpy."

Balinor shrugged half-heartedly. " I know."

"You're missing him?" Hunith couldn't help a soft smile. "He's been gone an afternoon."

"Mm," Balinor conceded with a curt nod, unashamed, "he's our boy."

"And your little mate."

"Yes."

"Well," Hunith encouraged him to lie back down, and rested her hand lazily on his chest, "tonight he's spending time with _his_ little mate," she told him slowly, as though explaining to a child. It did not pass Balinor by, and had Ganieda not been sleeping between them, Hunith knew he would grab her, roll over on top of her and nibble her nose without mercy. As it was he settled for cocking an eyebrow at her.

"Just like to have him close by."

"Next door is not close enough for you, father?" She asked teasingly, "would you like to sleep beside the wall tonight, that it is only the stone's breadth?"

"Stop teasing me, woman," he grumbled, tucking his arm behind his head again. "S'my nature to be uneasy about it."

Hunith reined herself in, and shook her head at him. "I know, and I'm sorry for teasing. I miss him, too."

"It's not right, seeing his little bed empty."

That was a feeling she shared wholeheartedly. The sight of the small cot bed with its carved patterns and woodland animals (aside from the one large hen that Merlin had asked for named Goffgoff of all things) was so synonymous with Merlin now that to see it without him tucked up with his wooden versions of Mud and Kilgarrah in his hands at this hour felt entirely wrong.

She too found herself wanting to retrieve him from next door and tuck him up to sleep in his own bed. She wanted both her babies under one roof where she could keep an eye on them. The pain and fear of losing Merlin, even for the short time it had been, still had not fully left her. But she understood that small things such as staying with Sam and Will overnight were necessary, both to Merlin in his growing need for increasing moments of independence, and to herself after what had happened. He was almost six summers already. It seemed only yesterday that she held him in her arms for the very first time. She could not mollycoddle him forever as one day he would no longer be her little boy to the world at large, but a grown man. All children grew up eventually.

Balinor understood that also. Though it seemed sometimes that he had yet to grow up himself. Only the other day had she caught him tormenting Simmons – with Sam's full compliance and enthusiastic encouragement – hiding behind the herb shed, enchanting the old man's bees to follow closely at the back of his head, spelling out rude words. She had caught them, and had roundly chastised the both of them for it.

However much she sometimes despaired of him, and however enduringly ridiculous her man may be, Hunith knew him to be a good father. She recalled the sincerity, enthusiasm and unbridled joy on his face whenever Merlin managed something particularly difficult during their magic sessions. She recalled how he had cried when Gwawr the midwife announced that he had a daughter, and again when she was placed in his arms for the first time. Not because he was disappointed that she was female, as Richard the Cartwright had been as he stormed from his house in a rage when his own daughter was born, but because he was simply overcome that Ganieda was healthy and strong.

Richard had needed a good belt round the head, Hunith had thought, hearing about his behaviour from Gwawr. Something that Sam had taken care of when he pushed the man into the muck heap and commanded him to sort himself out and be thankful for what he had. There were times when she was grateful for Sam's reactionary behaviour.

He and Balinor had become both Ealdor's bane, and its joy, playing havoc and taking it upon themselves to sort out the idiots. As well as the chairs, Alfred commissioned Balinor to build a set of stocks for the village, as an alternative to the whipping tree up in the woods. Something Hunith should like to see used less.

"What are you thinking about?"

She looked up from Ganieda to meet Balinor's curious gaze with a smile. "The fact that you're an idiot."

"We both know that," he returned off handedly, chuckling to himself. "S'not a thing to ponder."

"I know. I just love you. That's all."

He cupped her cheek, about to move in for a kiss when he remembered Ganieda. "I love you, too."

He didn't tell her that he had missed her. She had heard it enough to know that the time for reminding her had passed. Just as she no longer told him the same. Merlin would tell them both, when he stormed into the house the following morning, barefoot with Sam chasing him in a panic, carrying his little boots. Because running barefoot through the snow to tell somebody that he had missed them was such a very Merlin thing. As it would be when he casually announced that his toes were cold and got stood in a bucket of warm water while Hunith searched out a pair of socks for him, and Balinor told him he was a twerp which, according to Hunith, was hereditary on the paternal side...

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Nope, more mushiness. I had forgotten about this one, found it under the TV stand, and seeing as it falls before the next lot timeline wise, I thought I'd put it up first. Some married time for Hunith and Balinor, minus kids or those without the mute option switched on. Working on the next now! Days off have been disappearing again in the form of last minute "can you come in to work now?" phone calls, so I apologise for any lateness. Ich bin ein wage slave.


	14. Bonus chapter 4

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Bonus Chapters - Four

Everyone was so quiet. The whole village had gone inside their homes, apparently afraid to come out. That was how it seemed, anyway. Merlin stood on a stool by the window, looking out across the silent village in uncertainty. He couldn't see anybody, no matter where he looked. The animals were all inside, also. Even their rowdy hens were shut up in their little house out the back. Aside from the lack of other human adults, he couldn't see his father anywhere. Reaching out for his magic revealed that he was still in the village, but Balinor would not reach back. Trying to get him to do so provoked the mental equivalent of a shush. That confused Merlin, and upset him. His father had never pushed him away before. If he brushed, then Balinor would always brush back. Always.

Discomfited, he looked over his shoulder to his mother where she sat quietly in her chair, feeding his sister. Like the rest of the village, she was quiet today, and subdued. She was always calm, unless he was naughty or his father dropped something and broke it, but today she seemed sad. There was a far away look in her eyes as she gazed at Ganieda, yet didn't appear to see her. He hopped down from the stool and padded over to her on bare feet.

She snapped out of it, then, blinking at Merlin as he arrived at her side, watching him take hold of his sister's tiny hand and place his little finger against her palm that she would close her fist around it, as his father had shown him that she would.

"Where's da?" He asked, perhaps a twang of worry in his small voice.

His mother breathed a quiet, sad sigh. "Sam and Will's house, Merlin. Like I told you."

"Why?"

"Because the elders need him there."

"Oh." Though it was indeed far from the first time he had asked, and though it was the same answer he received every time, he was still not satisfied. He waggled his hand thoughtlessly, by extension waggling his sister's. "Won't talk to me," he murmured under his breath, miffed and a little hurt.

"He's busy, love," his mother replied, reaching out and stroking his hair as she recognised his distress.

Merlin folded one arm on the rest at the side of her chair and leaned into her touch. He waggled Ganieda's hand again, she completely oblivious, more interested in food.

She had magic, Merlin knew. The same as him and their father, though it was different to his own. It was only small, like her. Too small to use, but would grow that she could one day, when she was bigger. Merlin could sense it now, and could send her a brush, the same as he could Balinor, and knew that it made her happy, but she could not answer, or send one back like their father could.

The thought that Balinor wouldn't answer him at present left him feeling bereft. His father had always answered him in the past, but not today.

He took his finger back from Ganieda, aware that she had finished eating and that their mother needed to put her against her shoulder. It always made him giggle when Ganieda made a burp noise, even if she grizzled about being patted on the back first.

"Why's he busy?" He asked about Balinor again.

"Because he is, Merlin. The same as when he goes to work in the fields, or someone is sick."

"Is somebody sick now?"

His mother's eyes misted over, becoming teary. "Yes, love."

"Oh." It was never good when someone was sick. His father, and usually his mother, would make them better, though. Balinor always made them better. He looked up at his mother, distressed himself at seeing her cry, and reached up to try and brush the tears from her cheeks.

She smiled at him for it, and gathered Ganieda to her chest that she could stand and place the baby in her crib. She had been doing chores before stopping to feed Ganieda. She would carry on with them now, Merlin knew. Even before the tears, he knew that his mother was sad. She always dusted away the cobwebs when she was sad. He had helped her with that, and some of the other jobs around the house, and had made her laugh briefly when he found a fat spider in one of them, and declared that it was good that father was not there, or he would have screamed the house down and run outside again. He'd also dried and put away the bowls and spoons from breakfast as she washed them, so did not want to do any more housework. His mother wouldn't mind – she had wanted to do it herself, really, but he had insisted that he wanted to help.

Everyone was staying inside today, probably because it was going to rain later. Will had to stay inside, and so did he. Not really in the mood to play by himself, he decided to have a nap. Maybe his father would be back by the time he woke up? Or everyone would be outside again, or Will would be able to come out and play?

He liked the idea of playing with Will, and started trying to think up games they could play as he padded across to climb up onto his parents' big, comfy bed and settle himself to snuggle down under the blankets.

* * *

When he woke, it was to candlelight, and the patter of rain outside the shutters. The creeping things in the thatch were making their little rustling sounds, so it must be after dinner time.

Sleepy, he lifted his head and blinked. Nearby, he could see the small shape and curly hair of Will curled up tight on his side, tucked up in Merlin's own small bed. Ganieda was sleeping also, in her cot. Merlin looked over towards the stove, finding his parents there. Something was not right. They were holding each other, which was hardly unusual, but they looked sad.

For a moment, Merlin was afraid. He thought that maybe the mad King had come with his Camelot knights, and that Balinor would have to leave the village again. But that was not the case, he realised, as he heard his mother say 'Sam' in their hushed conversation.

He was puzzled by that. Why was his mother talking about Sam and crying? Sam wasn't even here – he was away with Eldred's men, being the Kingdom's protector, as Will so proudly and so often announced.

And why was Will here? As much as Merlin was always pleased to see Will, he knew that his friend was supposed to be over at May and Carl's house. They were supposed to be looking after him while Sam was away this time.

Unsure, distressed at seeing his parents so sad, Merlin sat up and called out to them softly,

"Mam? Da?"

Hunith and Balinor looked over at him, she fighting hard not to burst into another round of sobs, he brushing her arm, pressing a kiss to her forehead and crossing the house to Merlin on their bed.

"Merlin." Balinor took a seat beside him, and held his arms out to him. "Come here, son."

Merlin did as he was bade, crawling into his father's lap and curling up against his chest.

Balinor held him, stroking his boy's hair in a soothing manner. "I'm sorry I didn't answer you, boy. I didn't mean to upset you."

Merlin blinked up at him questioningly, waiting for an explanation. When it seemed that Balinor would not say anything further, Merlin asked about something else, uncertain about his father's silence. "Will's here?"

"Yes, Merlin."

"To play?"

Sad, Balinor shook his head. "I don't think he'll feel much up to playing for a little while, son."

Hunith joined them, taking a seat beside her husband and reaching out to stroke Merlin's curls, on the verge of tears again. Merlin didn't like it, seeing his parents upset. He didn't know what to do.

Balinor looped an arm around Hunith, pulling her to his side that he could hold them both, and took a deep breath. "Will is going to be staying with us from now on, Merlin," he told his boy, rubbing Hunith's arm where his hand rested as she began to cry quietly.

Merlin looked at his father earnestly, "in our house?"

Balinor nodded. "Yes."

Merlin blinked, confused. "Why?"

"Because..." Balinor paused, trying to think how he could explain it, "because Sam is gone, son. Like Maria."

Merlin knew what that meant. "... Died?"

with a swallow, Balinor nodded. "Yes."

"Was he sick?" Tears prickled at Merlin's eyes. "Never got better?"

His father opened his mouth to speak, but paused to take a stuttering breath of his own. "He was hurt, Merlin," he explained gently, "in battle. Too badly to help. There was nothing could be done."

Merlin shivered, understanding dawning. Will would stay with them now because he had nobody. He was all alone. He had been very sad when his mother died, but he had still had his father. Now that Sam was gone, Will was all on his own.

The thought was horrible. Merlin couldn't imagine how it felt to lose a parent. When Maria died, the thought of losing his own mother terrified him, pushed him to tears. Now the thought of losing Balinor dawned on him.

Hunith seemed to know what was coming, on her feet and positioning herself at Will's bedside as Merlin took his first gulping lungfuls of air and began to wail.

Tears ran down his cheeks as he turned to his father's chest and buried his face in Balinor's tunic. The sound woke Will, who also started to cry, swept up in Hunith's waiting arms.

Balinor held Merlin, shushing him and reassuring him in quiet tones that he wasn't going anywhere. The noise the boys made would inevitably wake Ganieda sooner or later, and all three would be in full voice. There was no blaming them for it. Will had been orphaned tonight. He and Hunith had lost a dear friend, Merlin had lost someone who had played a big part in his life, and now could not help but equate Will's situation with something that could easily happen to him. He had been taught what death was from an early age – something that was necessary as he had to understand the dangers he faced, having magic. It was very real, and he was a child. What else could he do?

Eventually, Merlin hushed, cuddled up against his father's chest listening to his heartbeat and staring glassy-eyed at the far wall. Hunith had managed to calm Will, and sat stroking the hiccuping boy's hair, holding Ganieda after she had indeed woken and joined the chorus.

Balinor glanced over at her with a watery smile. He could not help but be grateful for her. She was such a strong woman, and a wonderful mother. She would be what held them all together through the hard period of adjustment coming their way.

He rested his chin down on the top of Merlin's head, knowing how it always helped to relax Merlin, as well as himself. "Things are going to be a little tighter from now on," he told his boy gently, in a low tone, that only Merlin would hear. "We have to share what we have with Will."

Merlin nodded, understanding. Or as much as he could, Balinor knew. He went on, watching Hunith holding William and Ganieda, shushing them both with gentle words, "We need to treat him as one of us. He's part of our family now."

Again Merlin nodded, and rubbed at his eye. Balinor offered him a small smile. "Good boy," and sighed, running a hand over his stubbled chin. He just hoped that William would adjust to the idea, also. Things would be harder with a family of five, but they could manage. He and Hunith had planned on another child once Ganieda was weaned, but with Will to feed and clothe now also, that was out of the question. He was no longer of the means he'd once been, before he was stripped of his title and forced to run for his life. With their shared knowledge of herb lore and healing* both he and Hunith knew how to prevent any further additions to their family. Still the thought that there would be no more of their own saddened him. He had promised Sam that he and Hunith would take William in, should it ever be called for. He would honour that promise.

With a huff, he patted Merlin on the shoulder, and shifted a leg underneath him to get his attention. "Come on, boy. I'll do you up some dinner."

Merlin seemed heartened by that. Being upset was never an inhibition to his appetite. He clambered from his father's lap and across the bed to slide off onto the floor. Worried, he gestured to Will and his mother.

Balinor managed a small, reassuring smile, and shook his head lightly. "Will's not very hungry right now." He did not say that Will had refused food earlier, or that he was slightly worried about it. The boy would eat when he was ready.

Merlin didn't ask any further questions on food, but did point to his small bed where Will still sat cuddled up against Hunith. "My bed?"

Balinor ruffled his hair lightly. "We'll let Will rest there now," he told his child gently, "share what we have. You come in with your mother and I tonight. We'll arrange something more permanent tomorrow. Alright, boy?"

Merlin nodded, and smiled. He loved cuddling up with his parents, even though they encouraged him to sleep in his own bed like a big boy. He did want to share his things with Will, if it would make him happy.

With that thought in mind, he twined his fingers in Balinor's sleeve and pulled him across to the the table where the wooden figure of Mud was standing. He had lots of toys, and would happily share them all with Will, but … He picked Mud up and held it up to his father, "make one for Will?"

Balinor couldn't help but smile, and crouched down to pull his son into his arms and hold him tight, swallowing a dry sob. Merlin hummed, and patted his father's back.

Once he was released, he put Mud back on the table and climbed up to sit on his stool while his father went about making dinner. He felt very sad about Sam, but at the same time couldn't help but be excited about Will living with them. He wasn't entirely sure how to reconcile the two feelings.

Beside the stove, Balinor glanced over his shoulder at Merlin and ran a shaky hand back through his hair. He looked over at Hunith where she sat with Will and Ganieda, singing softly to the two sleepy children. It would not be easy. There was little to go around as it was, and it would be a long road for young William, but somehow they would make it work. They would find a way.

* * *

Κεφάλαια επιδομάτων

* * *

*And magic

Something less happy. It had to happen at some point. RIP Samuel :( I will miss writing you, Sir. There will be a couple more after this one, with some actual story. I have two weeks holiday starting monday, so we should be wrapped up fairly soon!


	15. Bonus chapter 5

Κεφάλαια επιδομάτων

* * *

Bonus Chapters - Five

"Wait, Will!"

He would do no such thing, pushing his way through a bush and racing on towards the stream ahead.

Merlin ran after him, stumbling through the still swaying bush and tripping over an aerial root onto his knees. Will ignored his plight, grinding to a halt at the edge of the water.

Feeling rather battered, Merlin pushed himself to his feet and limped after him in a manner perhaps a little more exaggerated than it need be. Out of breath, he joined Will at the babbling stream. "Why didn't you wait?"

"You should be faster," came the mumbled reply.

"M'smaller than you."

Will waved him off, letting go of any potential bad feeling to point into the shallows at the water's edge. "Look."

Curious, Merlin did as he was told and peered into the close-growing weed gathered below the bank. Amongst the green tendrils dancing in the weak current, a collection of fat black dots could be seen, suspended in small globs of clear jelly. Merlin's face lit up in a bright grin. "Frogspawn."

Will matched his expression. "Yep! In a few weeks they'll be tads."

Merlin blinked, fascinated. "Shall we come back and check on them?"

"Yeah. I wanna see them turn into frogs." Will brushed a fist at his eye and scratched his cheek against his shoulder. "Then I'm going to take one home for a pet."

Merlin found a frown at that, "Mam could say no."

"Then we'll hide it in the shed. She won't know about it, then."

"But..." Merlin hesitated, not sure about this 'we' business. He brought his fingers up to worry at the fraying end of his neckerchief, "I don't want to hide things from her."

Will scoffed and cuffed him lightly around the top of his head. "You're a baby!"

"No m'not."

His fidgeting irritated Will, the older boy rolling his eyes, impatient, "I wanna, so we'll do it."

Merlin bit his lip, uncomfortable. "We'll ask da," he compromised, pleased with the idea, "he likes frogs."

"No!" Will snapped, a deep frown on his face. "Not telling him."

His sudden reaction made Merlin recoil. He did not appear to notice, and invested himself in staring at the frogspawn.

His fits of temper made Merlin uneasy. They always did. As such, Merlin glanced over his shoulder, back towards the clearing where they had set up camp. He felt guilty for leaving. His father had only stepped away from them to check the snares he had laid earlier in the day. They were supposed to be learning about hunting and catching food. That was why they were this deep in the woods in the first place. Will had thought it would be funny to play a joke, and then run off to the stream.

It wasn't a good idea. Father would get worried if they weren't there when he came back.

"We should go back to da."

Will said nothing to that. He shrugged a shoulder, muttering under his breath.

Merlin reached out to touch his arm, instead finding himself taking steps after him as Will walked away. "Will-"

"Shush!" Will reached behind, slapping Merlin's outstretched hand away. "Heard something."

Merlin glanced around, not having heard anything himself. He started after Will, panicking to find himself being left behind. He felt torn, knowing that he ought to go back to camp, but if he did then Will would be wandering around the woods on his own. They weren't supposed to be in the woods without an adult to look after them...

Merlin shuddered and hurried after him. "Will! Wait!"

* * *

Beyond the stream was a small bank above a hill leading down to an area of thick-growing hazels. Will was well on his way towards the hazels as Merlin crested the hill and ran to catch up with him.

To the younger boy's relief, Will came to a halt at a clump of brambles, and crouched down as though hiding. Merlin joined him, careful to mimic Will's position as he too crouched down behind the brambles, despite their being slightly taller than him. He opened his mouth to speak, stopped by Will holding a finger to his own lips and gesturing over the brambles with an exaggerated nod of his head. Unsure, Merlin lowered his voice to a whisper, "what is it?"

Will opened his mouth to answer, cut off by a loud, guffawing burst of laughter.

Both boys jumped, Will recovering first and pulling the sleeve of his tunic over his hand to reach out and gingerly part the brambles that they could see through to the trees beyond.

A group of men were there, joking and laughing with one another as they roamed among the trees gathering fallen branches and sticks. Despite their laughter, Merlin shivered. They did not appear hostile, but there was something about them that set his nerves jangling. A couple of them carried swords slung at their hips in battered old scabbards hanging from scratched and cracking belts, but none of them wore armour of any sort. If not for the swords, they could simply be farmers from one of the surrounding villages come to gather firewood to store. Their clothing was roughspun and dirty, like they had been living in the woods and didn't have anybody to do their washing. The sight of them struck fear into him, bringing unpleasant memories to the surface.

It seemed like a long time ago now. He was bigger, and a little stronger, but the memories of his time in Halig and Kanen's custody still frightened him when he thought about it. Both Halig and Kanen were awful people. Somehow, even though they looked different, he had a funny feeling that these men were horrible too.

"Will," he whispered urgently, shaking his shoulder. "We should go."

To his chagrin Will merely shrugged him off and continued watching the men through the brambles.

"Will," Merlin tried again. "I think they are bad men."

"Look at their swords," Will replied, fascinated. His father had been good with a sword, and had promised him that he would teach him how to use one. Will had believed him, until -

He ground his teeth, forcing himself not to cry. Balinor had a sword, too, and he had offered to teach him. The thought made him angry. _His_ father should be there to teach him. Balinor _was not his father_ , and the thought of him trying to take his place made Will want to scream.

"We should go back," Merlin told him, digging sharp little fingers into his arm accidentally.

Will looked at him, saw him kneeling in the grass at his side, saw the way he shook gently, and the tears gathering at the corners of his eyes, and scoffed.

"Cry baby."

He turned back to observe the men once more, pointedly ignoring Merlin and his opinions completely.

Merlin hiccuped, and shook his adopted brother's arm again. "Will-" only to be shrugged off a second time. Merlin persisted, close to becoming distraught, "Will, I want to go back. Da will be worried-"

"You haven't talked to him have you?" Will demanded, turning sharply with that frown on his face that always seemed to be there when he talked about Balinor.

Shocked and a little scared by his tone, Merlin shook his head dumbly. Will gruffed a satisfied grunt in reply, and turned back to the scene beyond the brambles.

Merlin fidgeted with his sleeves and glanced back up the hill. They really should go back. It was dangerous to be so near these men, he just knew it. Not without his father there to protect them.

"They could be bandits," Will said suddenly, drawing Merlin from his thoughts with a sharp intake of breath.

Kanen and his men were bandits...

With a start, he looked round and up the hill towards their camp. Will jerked round and grabbed the smaller boy by the scruff of his tunic. "Don't answer."

Merlin blinked back at him in surprise. "Why?"

Will's grip tightened, dragging Merlin closer unintentionally, "don't."

Merlin didn't know what to do. His father was calling him. Silently, but he sounded worried nonetheless. On the other hand, Will's grip was starting to hurt. "Will - Ow!"

"Don't you dare, Merlin," Will all but snarled back, scaring the younger lad further.

Merlin nodded hastily and Will released his arm, satisfied. He faltered, aware that something had changed, that Merlin was no longer looking at him. He followed Merlin's gaze to the top of the brambles, and the pair of faces watching them with expressions of curiosity. Will froze.

The men looked back at them, one with a thoughtful grin on his face as he took in the two little people with a light shake of his head.

"Well," he began, grin twitching wider, "what's this, then?"

"You two look a little small to be out here alone," the second man observed with a stone expression.

"You're small!" Will shot back, ignoring Merlin's grip on his shoulder.

The men looked at one another and shared a grin.

"You're a spirited one, aren't you?" The first questioned, amused.

Will flinched, letting out a yell as his arm was grabbed and he was dragged through the bramble bush into the cover of the hazels. The other man reached for Merlin, missing his arm but catching the back of his neckerchief to grab him and fling him into the grass at the feet of his fellows.

Merlin drew a shuddering breath, unable to keep the tears from spilling over his cheeks as he looked up at the gathered men, all staring down at him, their arms full of firewood.

"What's this?" One of them, a slightly less dirty-looking man in a worn and frayed waistcoat inquired, looking to Merlin's captor for answers. With a shudder, Merlin noted that he was one of the ones with a sword...

"A couple of spies eyeballing your activities, Holden."

"Is that so?" The man named Holden glared at Merlin, though the boy thought it more mocking than serious, "do you know what happens to spies around here, little midge?"

"Leave him alone!" Will shouted, struggling against his captor.

Holden looked at him in surprise, a smile creeping onto his face as Will continued to thrash. "Rowdy little bugger, that one. Like it. We've been needing a new skivvy. What say you, Dorph? Reckon you could train him?"

Will's captor nodded and eyed Will in distaste, lifting him off the ground by the hold on his elbows and all but dropping him onto his backside with a thump. "Once he learns to behave himself."

The attention off himself, Merlin carefully and cautiously got to his feet, shaking as the men jeered at Will. Quietly as he could manage, he tried to move out of their circle only to find himself grabbed roughly by his tunic and hauled back.

"Where are you off to?" Another man asked, peering at him from standing height with a disapproving frown. Merlin did not answer, raising his thumb to his mouth and chewing vigorously at his nail.

"Nowhere, isn't that right, boy?" Dorph demanded with a snort, turning his attention on the squat man grasping Merlin's tunic around his neck, "going to strangle him, Mavis."

"Haven't decided yet," Mavis returned as though Dorph's observation were a question of intent. His brows drew together in irritation, "don't call me Mavis."

The men descended into laughter, except for Mavis. Merlin wrinkled his nose at the stench of stale ale on their breath. They all appeared to have been drinking.

Holden seemed to keep his composure, and hefted his pile of wood in his arms. He glanced at Merlin, looking him up and down with a serious expression on his face. "How old do you reckon he is? About eight? Maybe nine summers?"

"Old enough to make a couple of coins," Dorph muttered, apparently having been asked above the others, "bit weedy, but looks healthy enough. Could manage serving duties, I think. Domestic slaves his age make about five pieces of silver in the Glouvian markets just now."

"More than I would say he's worth, but you're the money man, Dorph."

Merlin hiccuped, a sob escaping him at the mention of markets. Did they mean _him_? Was he going to be _sold_?

Will struggled in Dorph's grasp, pushing up onto his feet and striking out at the man's shin with a kick that flew wide, "no!"

Holden and the others began to laugh again, with Dorph snorting in derision. "What are you going to do about it, Skivvy?"

"My father was in the King's army!" Will bellowed back, turning red with rage, "I'll kill you!"

That set them all off in hysterics, Dorph included. Holden however, addressed the little warrior, "you're a creature of impulse, sure enough," he told Will almost fondly, "you know what we do to Eldred's soldiers?"

Will stopped his struggling dead, finding himself taking unwanted, deep breaths at that question and allowed his eyes to follow Holden's direction as the man nodded to Dorph who dragged Will around to face him and crouched at the boy's level.

"We slice 'em," Dorph told him, and poked him just above his belly button, "from here-" he drew his fingertip all the way up Will's tummy, chest and throat, to flick off the end of his chin "-to here. Then we throw 'em in the woods for the wolves to gorge on."

Will's eyes flew wide, but he did not speak through his deep breaths, unable to stop them.

Holden turned his attention on Merlin, grinning down at the boy as though he were the most hilarious thing that he had ever seen, "what about you, tiny thing? Is your father one of Eldred's soldiers, too?"

Terrified, Merlin shook his head. Holden dropped his firewood carelessly on the ground and reached for Merlin, seizing his chin between thumb and forefinger. "What then? A farmer? You look like a peasant, you and your little friend. You come from the village?"

"S'my brother," Merlin managed, a crack in his voice.

Holden glanced at Will, finding the other boy staring at Merlin, still wide-eyed. "He said his da's a soldier. You're saying yours isn't, but that Skivvy is your brother? Is one of you lying to me, 'cause lies are the preserve of the dishonest. You know what happens to those who are dishonest?"

"Same as soldiers?" Merlin queried in innocence.

"Talking back to your elders is bad for a body, Tiny. Did nobody ever tell you that?"

Merlin whimpered, Holden's grip becoming painful as the man began to squeeze his jaw.

Will yelled seeing Merlin in pain, and lashed out. He struck Dorph's nose with a vicious whack of his flailing hand.

Dorph cried out and flung him to the ground, the others looking to their comrade in surprise. Holden released Merlin, the little boy shouting Will's name to see him lying on the floor. Dorph wheeled round, drawing his sword with a snarl to advance on Will. He did not get the opportunity to bring the blade down on the cowering boy as an invisible force struck him, pulling him back by the shoulders and throwing him from his feet into the grass through the brambles.

The others jumped back, producing various hidden weaponry or drew their swords, turning on Merlin in shock to see the little boy's eyes fading from gold to blue.

"Sorcerer!" Holden snarled, waving his blade at Merlin, directing the other men back with his free hand.

Merlin's breath hitched. He backed up a step of his own, finding every man – six in total, he counted, including Dorph who was moving back into the group with a severe limp and sword in hand – following him by a step that he gained no distance from them.

He wrung his hands in his neckerchief, fraying the edges even more than they were already and finding himself distantly afraid that he would ruin it. They wouldn't let him go. If he moved, then they would follow him. They all looked afraid of him. The way that they were glaring at him with disgust, and apprehension, one of them shaking holding a chipped dagger made him feel awful.

His magic bubbled under the surface, there and ready to use, to do whatever he wanted it to do to keep him safe. He forced it down and away, back to where it had to be when he kept it hidden. Because his magic was supposed to be a secret. He'd been bad by showing these men that he had it. He was never supposed to show anybody, and he had shown these men because he was afraid of them, and now they were afraid of him and everything was so wrong and so scary and just not supposed to be happening and he didn't know what to do! He gulped a lungful of air. He didn't want to face this on his own. He gulped another lungful of air, and another, and screamed.

Will winced, his fingers stuck in his ears while Merlin stood screaming his heart out. He squeezed his eyes shut. It seemed to go on forever, only to end abruptly as Merlin hiccuped a sob.

The men looked to Holden for instruction. He gestured them to seize both Merlin and Will, two of the braver fellows adjusting their grip on their weapons and creeping forward towards Merlin in particular while Mavis went for Will.

Will let out an indignant yell as he was hauled up off the ground by his elbow. The sound made Merlin blink in surprise and gasp to find Dorph and another man wielding a rusty mace coming towards him.

"Merlin!"

He looked over at Will, the older boy calling out to him desperately.

"Use your magic!"

Merlin froze, conflicted. He wasn't supposed to, but he and Will were in trouble and -

There was a familiar presence nearby, familiar magic. He took a breath and dropped to the ground, curling up in a ball and covering his head with his arms as Dorph lurched forward overtop of him to collide head first with the tangle of hazel trunks behind him. The man with the mace turned but didn't get a chance to swing before he found himself gashed across the chest by a well-kept sword and cracked in the head by an elbow.

Balinor did not stop, turning on Mavis where the squat man stood holding Will by his arm. Mavis made no attempt to hold onto his prize, dropping Will and stumbling backwards holding his hands up. Will took his chance and rushed to Merlin's side to skid onto his knees and throw himself down on top of the smaller boy and hold onto him.

Balinor threw out his hand and shoved the unarmed Mavis into the brambles as he turned to bring his sword up and engage Holden, the others in momentary disarray as they tried to surround their fellow and the newcomer.

"Merlin!" Balinor managed to disarm Holden and send his sword to the ground a few feet away, leaving the man stumbling after it as he glanced over at the heap that was his sons, "William! Run!"

Will did as he was told, scrambling to his feet and pulling Merlin up with him by his wrist. Merlin tried to hesitate, tugging back against Will and calling out to his father. Balinor was busy with Holden again, keeping him and the remaining two at bay. He did not turn to or answer Merlin, catching a strike by Holden on his crossguard that he could turn his back against the man's chest and shove him bodily into the other two behind. "William!"

Will obeyed, snatching Merlin's wrist again and dragging him deeper into the woods, away from there.

They went in no particular direction, just ran through the fallen leaves, moss and ferns as fast as their legs could carry them.

"Will!"

He looked back over his shoulder at Merlin's shout to find Dorph coming after them, limping and bloodied and looking for all the world like something from his nightmares. "Merlin use magic!"

Merlin glanced back at Dorph and craned his neck to see the battle between his father and the remaining men through the trees.

"Merlin!"

He reached for his magic to defend himself and Will when, suddenly, he wasn't running anymore.

A pair of hands had taken hold of his shoulders. Not pulling him to a stop, or pushing him to the floor, but guiding him gently into a forest of homespun and earthen-coloured robes.

Merlin halted, overcome by the feel of magic all around him, and looked up to find himself among men and women hidden beneath hooded cloaks, aside from a couple of calm and weather worn faces looking down at him. There were still hands on his shoulders, but unlike those of the men he had run from, they were gentle and meant to calm as one belonging to an old lady began to rub his back soothingly.

Will was beside him, still holding his wrist. He eyed the people around them warily, pulling Merlin against his side. Merlin did not share his worry. Somehow he knew that these people only intended to keep them safe.

Dorph came to a staggering halt a few steps from the gathering, and huffed, lowering his sword as though the thing were too heavy for him suddenly. "Huh." He winced and shifted his weight onto one leg. "Of course."

A man at the head of the crowd stepped forward that he may address Dorph, folding his hands inside the sleeves of his robes in a gesture of peace. "We mean you no harm," he assured in a calm, level tone.

Dorph chuckled, and wiped blood from his eye and forehead with the back of his hand. "Perhaps not, though you do intend to steal from us." He gestured towards Merlin and Will with a shake of his sword, "you have our prisoners there."

The robed man reached up and lowered his hood, a fall of wavy grey hair all that Merlin could see from behind him. "There are no prisoners here," the man told Dorph, no change in the volume or timbre of his voice.

"Right there." Dorph gestured again to the two boys. "Those are ours. Give me back our property."

The robed man did not so much as glance at Merlin and Will. "I see only the Dragonlord's child and a boy from the village."

Dorph shifted, looking uncomfortable briefly at the mention of a Dragonlord, but limped forward a step and addressed the robed man nonetheless. "You will fight over them?"

"We will not."

Dorph nodded, and limped forward to reach for Merlin. He stopped short, his hand coming into contact with a shimmering barrier. Surprised, he extended a finger, and poked at it, flattened his palm against it and found that he could not pass. Annoyed, he glared at the robed man. "What are you playing at?"

"We will not fight you," came the reply.

"You take me for a fool, don't you, Druid?" Though no reply or confirmation of any kind was given, Dorph snarled and raised his sword to whack the barrier with the flat. It had no effect, much to his consternation. He did not have the chance to direct any more ire at the gathered Druids, instead raising his head and finding Balinor approaching at the run, no others on his tail and a look of pure fury on his face.

The grey-haired Druid turned and ushered Merlin and Will further into the group, where they could not see the fight which erupted in the glade.

Dorph was either a fool, or simply beyond all reason after the beating he had taken, but he stood his ground. That was likely his downfall as he hit the ground, lifeless, a lick of flame still burning the stained brown tunic he wore.

Balinor took a deep breath, dropped his sword on the ground and spun to race between the Druids and snatch Merlin up in a tight embrace.

"Merlin!"

He buried his face in his son's shoulder, drawing deep breaths to calm himself. He looked up, reaching for Will to pull him into the cuddle also. "Will."

Both boys clung to him, Merlin shaking with barely controlled sobs. After a while, Balinor released them, rocking back to sit on his haunches. Seeing that both boys were safe, he looked up and around the gathered Druids.

They stood in silence, looking down at him and the boys in quiet contemplation, some of the elder men and women with knowing looks and smiles. Balinor stood, and nodded to them, grateful. His eyes met that of the grey-haired man who had held off Dorph, and who now smiled and stepped forward, holding out his hand. Balinor returned the smile, and grasped his wrist readily in a show of gratitude and friendship.

"Iseldir. It has been a long time."

The Druid chieftain inclined his head. "Lord Balinor."

"Thank you," Balinor shook his head, relief washing over him as his adrenaline receded, "for protecting them."

"We will assist any who require it."

Balinor rubbed a hand over his mouth, and took a shaky breath. "I... For a moment there, I truly thought I had lost them."

Iseldir observed him a moment, noting how weary and nervous he remained, and Merlin beside him, clutching a handful of his father's coat for security, and Will with his arms folded around himself, making a concerted effort to appear independent while also staying as close to Balinor as he could without breaking his illusion, and held out a hand to motion them into the forest. "You have all suffered a shock. Would you join us for a meal? Take time to compose yourselves before returning to your camp?"

"I-" Balinor looked down at Merlin and Will, finding them to be looking up at him questioningly, "thank you. That would be wonderful. We could do with some time."

Iseldir nodded, and gestured again for them to follow. "Please."

* * *

The Druid camp was different to anything Merlin had known before, while at the same time not. A forest of tents and lines strung with colourful flags between the trees, of new and exciting scents of cooking mixed with wood fires and leaf mould and moss. More than anything, the air sung with magic.

Despite all of this, it also felt similar to Ealdor with the families and daily tasks that took place. There were children, too. More than in the village, and they were all running around and playing in one big game of chase. Despite his fright earlier, it was not long before he wanted to join in. His father had picked up on his conflict, aware that Merlin wanted to stay close to him for safety as well as wanting to join the other children, and had given him a little push in their direction to let him know what he should do. So Merlin and Will had run off to play, and left Balinor alone with Iseldir at one of the fires.

Seated on one of the logs set out around the fire pit, Balinor watched Merlin and Will introduce themselves to the Druid children, and be drawn into the game with a quietly relieved eye. Sure that they were alright, he turned to Iseldir. "Thank you again. I only stepped away for a moment."

"It is no hardship," the chieftain assured him. "Any in need of assistance may seek it from our people, as we were in no doubt that we should offer it, hearing your son's distress."

"Mm." Balinor tried to turn his mind from the subject of Merlin's scream, not fond of the memory, and closed his eyes that he may sense the magic in the air as he had when they had entered the camp. "You have the perimeter warded."

Iseldir nodded. "Yes. It is best to remain hidden, however in this instance it is to deter those encamped to the North. They are friends of those you encountered earlier."

"You know of them?"

"Yes. They are slavers. Part of a gang that often roams Essetir's borderlands, run by a man named Jarl."

"Jarl?" Balinor frowned, not having heard of him before.

"A particularly nasty individual. He has no qualms about trading children in the markets to the East, and a fondness for pitting the men he captures against one another for the entertainment of himself and his accomplices."

"Somebody to steer clear of, then."

Something in Balinor's tone made Iseldir stop and watch him, thoughtful. "You sound troubled," he ventured after a moment, winning a quiet chuckle from Balinor.

"Was only supposed to be a few days away from home," he said, almost to himself. "Just to learn the basics of hunting."

"A very wise idea."

"Was it?" Balinor shook his head, and cast a glance at Merlin and Will again. "Wasn't the best time. I should have known better."

"What do you mean by that?"

Balinor rested his elbows atop his knees, and slumped forward that he could stare into the fire. With a murmur, a thoughtless wave of his hand and flash of his irises, a fox appeared in a sliver of orange flame, scented the air, and began to wander among the heaped firewood. "I know that tone, Iseldir. You're offering me counsel?"

"Should it be wanted."

Giving a tired sigh, Balinor scrubbed at his forehead with the back of one hand. "William," he began, weary, "he can be difficult."

"Boys can."

Balinor shook his head. "He is argumentative, and disobedient, sometimes violent. Worse at times, better at others. Recent days have not been good. I should have put this all off until there was an improvement."

Iseldir considered Balinor's words a moment, and adjusted his position that he too leant on his knees, and took up a twig to poke aimlessly at the fire. "He and Merlin are your sons?"

"William is not my blood. Hunith – my wife – and I are his guardians. He does not act that way towards her. Only towards myself. I understand why he behaves in the way he does. He is orphaned. He lost his mother to sickness, his father to injuries sustained in battle a couple of years ago. We took him in. He has resented me since."

"And before?"

Balinor shook his head. "I do know his feelings, even if he doesn't speak them aloud. He resents me for being here when Sam is not."

"His father?"

"Yes. It makes rearing him difficult. We try to make him feel as though he is a member of our family, and for the most part, I believe we are successful. But he has a deep hurt in him, and he refuses to let it heal or allow others to assist. It seems that he is also jealous of Merlin. Partly that he has his mother and father, and partly because he has magic, and William does not."

"I understand. That is a problem often faced within our camps. It is difficult for some to reconcile that they are born to the Druid people, and without magic."

"Perhaps William feels similar. Merlin, my daughter Ganieda and myself possess magic. It is only Hunith aside from him who does not. More than jealous, he becomes frustrated that Merlin does not use his magic as he himself would, should he possess it. It is difficult for him to understand fully that Merlin must hide it for the most part."

"Something many of us know all too well."

"Indeed. He is unable to understand the dangers that Merlin has been raised from birth to be wary of. Or that magic is not an excuse to wield power and do whatever you wish."

"Magic is a gift." Iseldir intoned, well aware of what could happen when a person took it into their head that it was a right to power.

"It is," Balinor agreed airily, "though some days it can seem more of a curse."

The chieftain smiled sympathetically, but did not say anything to that.

Balinor went on, at a loss. "The only way I can see towards cohesion, is if he will stop fighting me. He does not want to look on me as his father, yet my role demands that I provide the things for him that Sam was required to. But he wants nothing from me."

"You believe that is so?"

"Hm?" Balinor looked up to find Iseldir looking back at him, thoughtful.

"You believe that he wants nothing from you?" The chieftain repeated himself, watching the Dragonlord carefully.

"He does not."

"Yet when he is afraid, it is to you that he looks for comfort."

Balinor frowned, drawing back a little in surprise. "What do you mean?"

"I speak only as an outsider, Balinor, but it seemed very much to me that young William draws a sense of safety from your presence. He clung to you just as tightly as you clung to him, and he was most reluctant to leave your side on our way here."

Balinor thought a moment, recalling what Iseldir had said, and finding it to be true. Uncertain about what it all meant, he dipped his head into his hand and massaged the bridge of his nose. Iseldir met his eye across the flames.

"I believe communication is the key. For a boy who is not comfortable appearing weak around others, as William would seem to be, perhaps it is the time that must be correct, and not the words themselves?"

That was less cryptic than it sounded, Balinor realised, and understood the merit in the words. Home life was busy, and noisy with three children. Rarely did he and Will get any time without others around. That was indeed a problem.

However, he recognised that he did trust Will, as much as they didn't get on. Not in the sense that he could be left alone to his own devices without getting into, or causing trouble. It was different to that. Balinor knew that Will loved Merlin, and would never intentionally let anything happen to him, even though Merlin's sometimes overly-cautious behaviour did occasionally get on his nerves. Just as he knew that he could trust Will to get Merlin out of harm's way when he hadn't want to run from the fight earlier. It was not as though Will had designed the situation that he and Merlin would be in danger. That was not meant, no matter how foolish his behaviour had been. Balinor had not missed the way Will had shielded Merlin from harm while he fought. They had been best friends before Sam's death, but had very much become brothers since. Will was now very much Merlin's older brother.

The deeper he thought on it, the more he saw what Iseldir had said. Will did come to him for comfort when he was afraid, even if it be mainly in subtle ways. Will trusted him. He himself trusted Will. There was something to work from.

He looked up from his silent thoughts, and offered Iseldir a nod. "Thank you."

Iseldir merely smiled, and reached for another log to place on the fire. "We have spent time discussing young William, but little discussing Merlin, I notice."

"There is nothing to discuss, there," Balinor returned with a smile.

"I believe you may be surprised, my Lord."

A small frown creased Balinor's brow. He found himself sitting up and taking notice. "What do you mean?"

Iseldir sat back on his log, and folded his hands inside the sleeves of his robes. "There are many mysteries in this world, perhaps none so great as those of fate and destiny. Tell me, Balinor. What do you know of Emrys, and the Once and Future King...?"

* * *

Dinner had been a stew of some sort, very rich and filling, and enough to send Merlin into a deep sleep soon after finishing it. Realising that they would be going nowhere until morning, Balinor took up Iseldir's offer to spend the night in the safety of the camp, and made his excuses to put Merlin, and a quietly compliant Will to bed.

A tent had been offered, but seeing as they had spent the past couple of nights under the stars, Balinor had declined. It would be dry and warm throughout the night, and he had no intention of putting someone out of their home.

Now he sat on the ground beside his borrowed bedroll where Merlin slept, stroking his son's hair mindlessly, lost in thought. He had no worries for Ealdor in regards to the slavers. The Druids had cast wards around the nearby villages to deter anyone from the outside in wanting to enter, and to encourage them to move on. His mind was elsewhere entirely, yet fully on his son.

Iseldir had spoken at length before the call for dinner, recounting the story of Emrys and the Once and Future King that he had himself heard from his father as a boy. To him, they were stories. To Iseldir and the others around them, they were prophecy, written so long ago that none could remember when exactly.

Balinor blinked, and looked down at Merlin where he lay snoring lightly, his mouth open, face shoved into his pillow and dribbling slightly. Now, Iseldir believed that Emrys had come, and that he was _Merlin_.

It seemed laughable. It really did. And he had laughed. At one point he'd thought he might choke, though now he looked back on it the laughter was probably a mixture of horror and pure hysteria and just plain old fear. How could it not be? Someone had just told him that his boy's birth was prophesised by some ancient vates*, and would take it upon himself to one day free the entirety of his people and magic. It was entirely ludicrous. Merlin had come about due to he and Hunith getting a little too frisky around the fires one Beltane, not because it was written in the stars.

Merlin was many things, but he was no one's saviour. He was eight years old. He still asked to sleep in his parents' bed when he had a nightmare, played with blocks and thought that bottomless pits existed. Yes, he was special. He was gifted in magic in ways that Balinor had never seen before, or knew were possible. Yes, he was extremely powerful, again unlike anything Balinor had ever seen before, but Emrys?

As if to make the whole scenario even less believable, Iseldir had then posited that Arthur – Prince Arthur of Camelot – was the Once and Future King, destined to unite the land of Albion. _Uther's_ son was supposed to work alongside _his_ son to bring about this golden age for all and sundry. Arthur would grow to adulthood being spoon fed poison about magic, believing that all who practised it were evil and corrupt at heart. It would be drummed into him day in and day out by his father, and yet destiny dictated that he would free magic and unite the land?

Balinor chewed at his lip, unable to shake the troubled frown settled firmly on his face. His memories of Arthur were limited. They didn't extend to much more than the small, wriggling and bright red infant that was thrust his way by Uther in a panic as he rushed to Ygraine's side for her final breaths. Arthur had howled thunderously for what seemed like an age until one of the nursemaids had stolen him away for a short while and brought him back happy and sleeping. He definitely was not immediately identifiable as the Once and Future King of legend. Then, Merlin hardly looked like the greatest sorcerer ever to walk the Earth when laid out on the floor, rolling back and forth with Ganieda as they both pretended to be Alfred's dog, Silvercoat. He didn't seem particularly qualified to free magic at times like that. He was just a child.

And yet, one day he would not be.

Merlin was growing up, something that his father found himself painfully aware of, and one day he would be a man. One that Balinor was in no doubt he would be proud of. His magic was growing up with him, changing in the emotions it responded to, and in ways that seemed less and less childish. If it continued as it was, then the potential Merlin had could be limitless. The seed of doubt that he was correct in his initial dismissal of Iseldir's words had not taken long to sow itself and grow. The more he listened, the different everything that went on around him seemed.

Men and women around the camp would stop and look at Merlin as he passed, some calmly, some with an almost undisguised awe. They refrained from speaking to him, or interrupting the childrens' game in any way, but it seemed that almost every person there glanced at Merlin at least once. Some of the children were less demure, one or two actually bowing to him. Merlin didn't seem to notice. He probably thought it was a game.

Even after he had eaten his fill and fallen asleep with his head on his father's knee, the others seated around had been looking at him with a respect that was unheard of for an eight year old boy. The older lady sat next to them had kissed Merlin's hair and murmured 'bless you, dear child' before standing to retire for the night. These people needed Emrys. They relied on the hope that he would bring. So to an extent, Balinor had to acknowledge, did he.

Destiny was a formidable thing. The dragons were gifted with the ability to foretell and see the individual threads stretching before each being, and what awaited them at the end of it. As Dragonkin, he understood how revered and important such a mystic gift was, and knew that the forces of destiny were to be respected. As a father, he found his feelings quite different, and as such, was deeply conflicted.

In his heart of hearts he knew Iseldir to be right. Merlin and Emrys were one in the same. Part of him felt a sense of relief – to know that an end was coming to the persecution of magic. While a greater part recoiled from the knowledge. He feared for his son. Merlin carried the hopes of so many. That part of him that feared knew well that while it may be impossible to escape this great destiny of Merlin's, it may be possible to protect him from it, if only for a time.

Merlin did not need to know what he was. Not yet. For as long as he possibly could, Balinor resolved to stand between Merlin and his destiny. Come hell or high water, Merlin was going to have a childhood, and beyond that, make his own choices in life without having to tailor everything to the destiny he had been given. He would not be a slave to it.

Balinor huffed loudly to himself, and rubbed at his eyes. He was contradicting himself with every new thought, and it was difficult to reconcile his beliefs with his need to protect Merlin. Whatever happened, he just hoped that he was making the right choice.

It seemed whatever he did, it would be wrong.

That thought in mind, he looked up, over at the second bedroll where Will lay sleeping. Or was making a valiant effort to appear asleep, anyway.

With a soft sigh, Balinor got to his feet and crossed to crouch down beside Will, and folded his arms across his knees. "Wiliam." He murmured, well aware that the boy could hear him.

In response Will drew his knees up under his blanket and made a snoring sound.

Balinor considered him a moment, thought that perhaps he should just leave the boy to it if he didn't want to talk to him. Then again, when would they next have the chance to speak one to one? Decided, he reached down and gently shook Will's shoulder.

"William."

Well and truly rumbled, Will looked up over his shoulder. He didn't say anything, though did not look about ready to get up and bolt.

Balinor managed a small smile. "Having trouble sleeping?"

Grudgingly, Will nodded.

Balinor was not really surprised. Both boys had suffered a shock today. As much as he tried to act big and tough, Will was not as resilient as Merlin. He settled himself that he sat beside Will's bedroll, and crossed his legs that he was comfortable. "Merlin told me what happened today."

Hurriedly Will looked away and shrugged his blanket right up to his ear.

Balinor huffed at his dismissive behaviour, but did not feel angry over it. "This can't go on."

No response.

"I don't know what I can do to make things better."

Still no response.

"I know you don't like me. Gods know you've fought me every day you've lived under my roof. I understand it, boy. I really do. I know that you miss Sam."

Will buried his face in his pillow. Balinor squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. "You may feel alone, but you're not. As much as you don't want to hear it, I do know how you feel."

Will looked up at him again, then, tears in his eyes that he tried to swipe away with a blanket-wrapped hand. Balinor smiled gently, and wiped them away with his thumb. "I lost my father, too."

Though he didn't say anything, Will appeared surprised. Not that Balinor's father had also died. He knew that. More that it seemed Balinor was actually going to speak about it. He had never done so before.

Balinor continued, finding that as he spoke, Will turned over to face him and listen. "I was older than you. Coming up on twenty-two years. That didn't make it any less hard. He was all that I had. I never knew my mother, and when he was killed I felt as though I was alone, even though that was not the case."

"Why?"

The sound of Will's voice was something of a relief. Balinor released the breath he didn't know he had been holding, and went on. "Because there were still people around me who loved me. Good friends, and people I thought of as family." One of whom, he did not say, had betrayed him and become his greatest enemy. "Their support helped me to come to terms with what had happened, and to be able to move past it and carry on with my life."

He began carding a hand through Will's hair, knowing that Hunith always calmed him that way, and shook his head. "I know I'm not your father. I would never dream of trying to take his place. But I _am_ your guardian. Sam asked me to look after you, should anything ever happen to him, and that is what I'm trying to do. You don't make it easy for me, boy, you really don't."

Will lowered his eyes, his shoulders hunching under his blanket. He began chewing its edge, stopping when Balinor gently pulled it away that he wouldn't soak it or get a mouth full of wool.

"Part of looking after you is making sure that you have all the skills you will need to be able to look after yourself when you're grown. A lot of those are skills that would have been taught to you by your father, but that are now down to me to teach you. I'm not trying to take Sam's place, Will, truly I'm not, but I have to make sure that you can feed yourself, provide for your own family and defend yourself one day. It is important to know how to do those things, isn't it?"

Will shuttered his eyes, and nodded his head. "Yeah."

Balinor nodded, hoping that counted as understanding. Will was looking up at him again, not trying to hide. That was a good sign. There was something else that they needed to talk about. Something else that Will needed to understand. "Is that why you ran off, earlier? Because you didn't want me to teach you to hunt?"

"Don't know." Will murmured, feeling suddenly foolish, guilty and embarrassed all at once.

"It was a silly thing to do." Balinor told him quietly, able to see that he was embarrassed, but also needing to address it. "The woods can be dangerous at the best of times, but especially this far from the village. If I didn't know better, I'd say you like being in trouble. When you aren't already in it, you go looking for it. That's not good at the best of times, but today you got Merlin in trouble as well. You know that his magic has to be a secret. He had to break that rule today, because you didn't do as you were told. Those men could have been anyone, including people from Camelot. Sometimes they cross into the woods in search of supplies, even if they are not supposed to. If they had been, then they could have gone back and told their King. You know what would happen then."

It wasn't a question. Will had been told about King Uther of Camelot, and that borders would not stop him from coming for magic users. He knew that Merlin would be taken away. Ganieda, too, along with Matthew, and Rosie, and Carl and his little girl, Magge. And of course Balinor.

The mad King of Camelot seemed less of a real figure to him and more of a bogey man. He had never seen Uther for himself, but knew that he _was_ real. He was the reason that Balinor hadn't been there when Merlin was a baby.

"Strangers must always be treated with caution. Do you know what slavers are?"

Will nodded. He had heard his father talk about them before.

Balinor returned the nod. "Then you know that they are dangerous, and you know now that you can't judge somebody based on appearances alone. That's a very valuable lesson. One you should take to heart."

The boy nodded. He knew that was right. He should be more careful.

His response pleased Balinor. He pulled the blanket up around Will's shoulder, tucking him in. "It may surprise you, but I do care about you, Will. Do you know how scared I was, when I saw that you and Merlin were missing?"

"Very scared?"

Balinor tufted at his curls affectionately. "Very scared. The thought of something happening to either of you is just... You are family, Will. You always have been. I love you, boy. " To his surprise, Will sat up and threw his arms around his neck.

"I'm sorry!" The boy sobbed, voice shaking. "I'm sorry."

Balinor held him, trying to calm him down. "S'alright," he murmured, rubbing Will's back. "S'alright."

"...didn't want to get Merlin in trouble."

"It's alright. You're both well. No harm's been done."

Will didn't say anything more, descending into deep sobs. He clung to Balinor, holding tight until his tears began to subside.

Balinor hummed to himself, and tilted his head against the side of Will's. "You're a good boy, William," he murmured, "but we've lost our way, you and me, haven't we?"

Will nodded, and sat back on his feet, rubbing at his eyes to clear the tears.

Balinor smiled. "We'll have to try and find a new way from now on, won't we?"

Again, Will nodded. Balinor palmed his cheek, managing a genuine, wide smile. "Good boy. Now, get some sleep. We'll head home to Hunith and Ganieda in the morning, alright?"

From the lack of objection, Balinor got the feeling Will liked the idea, and allowed Balinor to tuck him in. "Night."

"Goodnight, Will."

Leaving the lad drift off to sleep, Balinor stood and headed back to his own bedroll.

Will had been a difficult child from the get go, but only towards him. Hunith had no trouble, and was much better at handling him. Balinor did understand it. He had always know why Will resented him, and it was hard. Tonight however, he felt that they had made some headway. That put his troubled mind at rest for the moment, even if they still had a long way to go.

He lay down under his blanket, not waking Merlin as he cuddled up with his son and settled to sleep. He knew now more than ever that life was going to be hard. Merlin's destiny as Emrys took them into uncharted territory, and he could not be sure that his decision to keep his boy from it as long as he could was right. Hopefully, though, family life could be a little more settled, and Will would be more comfortable with it. With that in mind, things may just be a little easier...

* * *

Κεφάλαια επιδομάτων

* * *

*Druid seer

... and by the epilogue, Merlin's more mature than Will :P

Sorry for the mega chapter and changing points of view. It just got longer and longer and I didn't want to split it as I want each bonus chapter to be self-contained. It's ended up almost as long as the epilogue! There was a lot to cover, though. I didn't want to go into detail over Iseldir telling Balinor about Merlin's destiny as that would have made this even longer, and we all know Merlin's destiny already, so thought the fallout would be more interesting.

I could see Will and Balinor's relationship being strained to begin with. Sam was Will's hero, after all, and I get the feeling he wouldn't have responded well to what he percieved as someone trying to take his place. Bal's Mufasa speech slipped in there, too. Not intended, but it seems to be the goto grown up speech for kids getting themselves into trouble and dragging their friends into it with them.

The final chapter is written! I just have to type it up, edit and upload it. Should be done by Monday! xxx


	16. Bonus chapter 6

Κεφάλαια επιδομάτων

* * *

Bonus Chapters – Six

Spring brought with it new life, and new hope. As dead as the Isle was, so full with emptiness and a deep, deep cold that would seemingly never cease, it all seemed to lift that day the Druid arrived.

She had accustomed herself to loneliness. The sacred Isle was home to nobody now, not even her in all reality. The home she had known was lost, become a place of danger, suspicion and hatred where once it had been one of laughter, love and friends. She could never return there. This temple at the heart of the Old Religion was nothing more than a place to lick her wounds.

Few of her kind remained – the last of the nine scattered to the very corners of the land. She knew not how many remained beside herself and Valdis*, the latter vanished with the horn of Cathbadh that Uther would not get his grubby hands on it. Even the boatman had gone, sent away at her behest that he would be safe if Uther should come. He went, despite his protests.

Uther could come. He could find her here, should he think to look. He had already sacked the Isle and stolen the treasures. He could come back. Some days she thought perhaps that it would be a relief. The constant wondering would stop, even if his attack on magic would not. She could finally cease looking over her shoulder.

Some days she thought perhaps she deserved the uncertainty. The constant fear. For doing what he had asked of her, despite knowing the risks involved. It would have been better, perhaps, should her life have been taken, instead of Ygraine's.

She still cried for her friend.

Then came the days that she felt a stirring, that she was glad that she had lived. These were the days when the seed of revenge long taken root started to grow; when dark ideas clouded her thoughts with plans and ways in which to damage Uther and his rotten kingdom, seek retribution from the fickle people who turned out to watch their friends and neighbours burn.

Those were dark days indeed, and garnered more and more of her enthusiasm with each passing one, resonating more and more loudly in the endless, lonely silence...

Until the day that she was not alone anymore. The day she felt another presence immediately they set foot on the sacred Isle. A Druid, apologetic that he - a man* - had invaded this holy place, but begged safety and shelter through the night, out of sight of Uther's patrols.

She granted it.

He brought food and asked that she honour him by sharing it.

She did.

He spoke of the destruction of his camp, the slaughter of his fellows by Camelot Knights.

She was not surprised.

He told her that he travelled North, to Caerleon's Kingdom to join a clan in the forests beyond Camelot's border.

She doubted it would be far enough from Uther's madness.

Finally, he observed that she seemed hopeless. As though there was nothing beyond this darkness.

She scoffed at the notion of hope.

He had asked her not to. For many, like himself, hope was all that remained. He told her that she too should hold onto hope, because the new era had already begun. Emrys had been found.

At first she had not believed. The Druid had insisted that it was true. Emrys had been found in a small village within the borders of Eldred's Essetir. He was but a child, born to a peasant woman and the last of the Dragonlords. The clans passing through in search of trade and shelter all identified him as Emrys. Even so young his power was reported to be unmatched.

And so she found herself walking the beaten path, making her way through the small cluster of homes and fields. Not in pursuit of a legend given hope to that lone Druid traveller, but something more personal, and deeply beloved.

She found him in the fields working alongside the peasants in the dust. No taller, but certainly much broader than the willowy creature he had been, back when she had stewarded a Kingdom's magic, and he had stewarded dragons.

At the sight of him toiling half-naked in the noonday sun, so at odds with the others around him as he so carelessly bore the marks of his people for all to see, she found herself running. Her feet carried her down the path without a care for her Priestesshood, the already frayed edges of her skirts catching beneath her sandals and tearing to tatters. Barely had he looked up from his work had she thrown herself into his arms, buried her face in his damp shoulder and sobbed so deep it racked her very bones.

Her friend. Her dear, dear friend.

He held her, she knew with a breathy laugh, not because he recognised her beneath her velvet hood, but simply because she was a sobbing woman clearly in need of comfort. He felt so still and awkward to her that she could not help but laugh out loud.

"Balinor."

She knew he startled, and looked down at her.

"N-Nimueh?"

How could she not chuckle? Her great, soft friend. She had missed him so!

His hold became sincere, protective. She was glad for it. To know that not everything had changed.

When they released one another, he stared down at her in shock, wordless. The sight brought her more chuckles even as tears of relief and sadness wet her lashes.

"My Lady," he managed after a moment.

She bowed her head. "My Lord."

"What are you doing here?"

"A person cannot visit a friend without questions?" She teased, amused by his rather accurate impersonation of a suffocating fish. "And such bluntness, too, my Lord. No compliment on how I look? No pleasantries?"

"You look the same," he returned lamely.

Nimueh felt a flare of affection and nostalgia. She smiled, and reached out to squeeze his bicep. "Which is not something that can be said for you, Balinor. Where did these come from? Am I to believe that Camelot's little Dragonlord has finally grown into his shoulders?"

That he was suddenly unable to look at her gave her immense satisfaction. It had always been so easy to tease and embarrass him.

He seemed to become aware of the villagers watching them from where they worked around the fields suddenly, and cleared his throat. "You should not have come."

Nimueh could not help but feel a little hurt by that. "You wish I should go?"

Balinor realised his words, and quickly shook his head. "That's not what I mean. This is a safe place – magic is tolerated here. But the journey is dangerous. If Uther should find you... If he were to follow you-"

"Then he would not know me," She returned with an almost condescending smile. "You should know me better than that, Balinor, to think that I should travel without a glamour."

He considered her words a moment, perhaps thinking himself foolish, however he fixed her with a serious look, "why have you sought me out? You haven't tried before, or you would have found me. Why now?"

Nimueh appraised him carefully. She was right that he had grown. He was no longer a boy. She wondered perhaps how his instincts may have changed. He had always been very protective of those closest to him. "I have come to see Emrys."

The way his shoulders tensed, and his eyes darted over those nearest them told her that the Druid had spoken the truth. She had indeed come to see Balinor's son.

He did not speak for a moment, but when he did his voice was low, and strained. "How?"

"That is not important," she replied sweetly, "all that matters are my intentions, and I wish you to be assured. I only want to meet the boy."

"It _is_ important, Nimueh," Balinor all but growled back, his shoulders rounding in what he likely still did not recognise as an imitation of a dragon's defensive stance. Truly it was quite intimidating. "You will tell me."

She inclined her head. "Very well, but later. For now, trust that he is in no danger, and neither are you." She took his arm, fighting to keep from sounding too imploring, "please. Let me see him."

Balinor searched her face with narrowed eyes, a muscle in his jaw twitching. At last he nodded stiffly, and stalked off towards the village, snatching his tunic from the fence as he went.

Nimueh supposed that she was meant to follow, though he had given her no indication. She did, folding her hands resolutely in front of herself to prevent them from wringing.

* * *

There was nothing at all special about the small house she was led to. It looked similar to all of the others. Small, thatched and utterly grotty as far as she was concerned. Though she doubted that Balinor shared her opinion as he strode up to open the door and walk through, neglecting to hold it for her.

She should have been affronted by such a display of bad manners, she felt, but could not bring herself to be anything other than surprised and perhaps a little delighted by the gang of small people that mobbed Balinor almost as soon as he stepped inside.

"My, my, Balinor," she smirked, looking up from the three children to meet his eye, "you have been a busy boy."

He did not make any reply to that, though did turn a charming shade of red and looked to the woman approaching from the stove, drying her hands with a cloth. Nimueh looked to her also, recognising her with a fond smile, despite any sibling affiliations the woman carried.

Hunith was clearly stunned to see her, something in her expression that told Nimueh she was momentarily afraid, but it passed quickly as Hunith turned to Balinor.

"You're back early." Her eyes flicked over Nimueh briefly, returning hurriedly to Balinor. "Is everything alright?"

He gave a tired nod, and bent to pick up Ganieda where the little girl stood holding her arms out to him. "Fine," he murmured, sitting his daughter on his hip. "Merlin has a visitor."

Hunith froze. "Merlin?" She looked to Nimueh, her hand rising to worry at her necklace, her eyes falling to rest on the smaller of the two boys.

Merlin looked up at mention of his name, his eyes settling on Nimueh out of curiousity, and perhaps a little worry.

"It is good to see you again, Hunith," Nimueh greeted, offering a warm and sparkling smile.

"What do you want here?" The peasant woman all but snapped, drawing closer to Balinor and the children and surreptitiously moving them a little way away from Nimueh. The priestess did not miss it.

"I merely wish to meet the boy," she returned levelly, her eyes falling on the smaller lad at Hunith's side as his mother's hand stroked over his dark hair, "discover for myself if what I have heard is true."

"And what if it is?" Hunith's eyebrow was raised in a manner so very reminiscent of her brother that Nimueh found herself cowed, filled with nostalgia and enraged all at the same time. The sight made her long for a time that could never be again.

She felt aggrieved by Hunith's behaviour, but recognised the flare of maternal protectiveness for what it was, though she had never experienced it herself. Absently she noted that it matched Balinor's own display in its own way. If indeed little Merlin _was_ Emrys, then clearly he was well loved. She had not expected anything less.

Clever of the Goddess, she thought with an inward smile, to give the boy to a Dragonlord. Their ferocity and dedication to protecting their young knew no bounds. Balinor would not hesitate to give his life in defence of his son, nor would he hesitate to take hers should she attempt to do the boy harm, beloved friend or not. Neither would Hunith, judging by the expression on her face. Balinor had chosen well.

It was a good thing, then, that she did not intend any harm. To illustrate the fact, she clasped her hands at her skirts. "Then I shall be satisfied that I was not lied to," she answered levelly.

Unsure, Hunith scrutinised her a moment longer before looking to her husband.

He regarded Nimueh coldly, a stone expression on his face that made it difficult to gauge his thoughts. It did appear that he was satisfied she was telling the truth, as he nodded to his wife.

Hunith relaxed a little, though there remained a tightness around her eyes that spoke of worry and stress that became more ingrained by the day. She released a sigh, and rubbed agitatedly at her forehead before looking down at the taller of the two boys. "Will, you and Merlin go play outside. Take Ganieda with you. Don't go near the pond."

Will nodded, and ushered the two younger children over to the sleeping area to search out their coats.

Hunith moved to the table and pulled the bench from beneath it, gesturing to Nimueh that she may sit. "You must be weary, and hungry," she managed, halfway pleasant. "Please."

The priestess shook her head. "If I am unwelcome, then I would not-"

"You are not unwelcome," Hunith assured her, and indicated once again to the bench, "please. Sit."

Nimueh did as she was instructed, watching Hunith bustle about searching out refreshments and placing a pan of stew on the stove to heat, still in a manner slightly agitated. Behind, she heard one of the boys commanding Balinor's attention to assist them in finding a lost boot.

Curious, she threw out her senses in search of Emrys' magic. Strangely she found nothing in regards to him, but easily detected the familiar glow of Balinor's own formidable power, and also the fledgling magic of his little girl. It would seem that Merlin had been taught to hide his power, and to keep it below the detection of even the most skilled of magic users. Very impressive, for such a young boy.

Hunith took a seat across the table, setting a clay mug down in front of Nimueh. She placed another before the seat beside her, settling herself that she was comfortable and holding a third mug of her own between her palms.

Nimueh dropped her eyes to her own mug, finding it to contain a herbal infusion. Probably one of Gaius' recipes. "Thank you," she began, finding it hard to be humble, even in front of one she knew, "for not turning me away. I understand that my appearance is sudden, and... less than desirable."

Hunith shook her head, though Nimueh sensed a falseness in it. "You are welcome in our home, my Lady. Please understand, that should you have come here with any intentions not concerning Merlin, then your reception would have been friendlier."

"I do understand," Nimueh acknowledged, "he is your child, whatever else he may be." She cast a smirk at Balinor as he joined them and took up the seat beside Hunith, the children on their way out the door, "though for a moment there I did not doubt that Balinor was willing to rip my head off. I believe he well could, now that he is no longer a weed."

"Funny," the Dragonlord muttered, and took a long draught of his drink.

Hunith huffed at him, and clearly kicked him under the table, directing a long-suffering frown his way. She composed herself, and turned her attention back to Nimueh. "So how did you hear? About Merlin?"

"A Druid sought shelter on the Isle," the Priestess explained, absently turning her mug back and forth between her open palms. "He told me that I should let go of despair as hope had arrived."

"And he told you about Merlin?" Balinor gave a displeased grunt, and sat back on the bench that he may fold his arms over his chest. "Well. Perhaps they would like to send out a missive on the subject? I don't think that everyone in the five Kingdoms knows about him yet, or exactly where he can be found. Maybe Uther's ought to be delivered personally? It'd only take me a day or so to get to Camelot with it. Perhaps a gilded bow?"

Nimueh almost laughed, but seeing the grave expression on Hunith's face, forewent it.

Hunith threw a distressed look at Balinor, her fingers worrying at the roughspun table runner beneath them. "I don't like that people are talking about him."

Clearly Balinor agreed. "I'll send word to Iseldir that I want an audience first thing."

She seemed pleased with that, and squeezed his arm lovingly.

Nimueh observed them a moment, before lightly clearing her throat. "I have not yet sensed the full scope of Merlin's power," she began in a business-like manner, "he keeps it well hidden."

"He has been taught to," Balinor replied sharply. "He knows well that his magic must remain a secret outside the bounds of the village, and to any strangers who visit."

"Very wise."

"He has been raised to know the dangers of possessing magic in the... current climate," Hunith added. "He has been able to perform magic from the day he was born. As we were without Balinor -" the way she looked at her husband told Nimueh everything she needed to know "-I didn't know how to train him in its use, only to teach him that it must be kept hidden."

From the day he was born? Nimueh tried to keep her surprise from her face, and pushed down the small spike of jealousy that reared its head in her. It was hitherto unheard of that a child should be born with the ready ability to use magic. All who would one day have the ability to use it were born with magic, but the capability to call on it did not normally manifest until adolescence. Occasionally one would hear of a child with the capability. She had herself been such an oddity, as had the man sitting opposite her. But never before had a _babe_ possessed command over magic. It placed a new perspective on the small boy she had seen racing for the door to play, holding his sister by the hand.

If one who knew how were to teach the boy, guide him in the ways of old and help him to reach his full potential, then he may very well be able to free magic. Emrys was said to be more than a simple warlock. There were those who believed him to be the embodiment of magic itself. If he could be shaped, and turned to a purpose, there may be no stopping him. Uther's days would be numbered. Perhaps she had come only to meet the boy, but if she were to take him back with her to the Isle – provide him the tutelage he needed...

"If indeed Merlin _is_ Emrys then the best course of action is for him to be trained. I shall take him to the Isle where I shall teach-"

"He goes nowhere."

Nimueh looked up from her mug in surprise, taken aback by Balinor's tone. "Balinor, I assure you-"

"He. Goes. Nowhere."

"It is tradition that those gifted with powerful magic are sent to the custodians of the Old Religion to be trained in its ways. The Priests of the Catha took charge of the males, while the High Priestesses of the Isle took charge of the females. With our people so scattered, I as a High Priestess volunteer to train the boy."

"No."

"It is our way, Balinor. You know this."

"Balinor has been helping him with his magic." Hunith put in, trying to calm the situation she saw about to erupt. "He does well enough."

"Your husband is a powerful warlock in his own right," Nimueh acknowledged, a smirk on her lips. "Though to my knowledge the Catha never approached _him_ as a boy. But he cannot teach Merlin as I can; to harness his power, to hone his magic for its proper use."

"And what would that be?" Balinor demanded, openly scowling at her across the table, "vengeance? What would that achieve but to bring more pain?"

"As Emrys it is his destiny to free our people."

"I know damn well what his destiny is! Lords know it has been shoved down my throat without end this past year. I am sick of hearing about it! Merlin does not need to learn magic."

All regard to remaining respectful evaporated. Nimueh openly laughed. "Come, Balinor. You know well that magic must be studied to be mastered."

"And study he does. It is words he learns, not magic - it comes to him without effort and responds to his wants and emotions. I am perfectly capable of teaching him spells. It is guidance he needs. You are not the person to provide it, Nimueh. Your bitterness and hatred of Uther forbids you."

"And what of you?" Nimueh demanded, glaring at him with such fire that Hunith briefly feared for her husband's safety. "You do not hate Uther? The man who betrayed you, destroyed the dragons and slaughtered your people? You would not see him dead and buried where he could do no harm?"

Balinor hesitated, Nimueh noted it, but shook his head, weary. "I would not."

"You would not see his threat removed?"

"Not by my hand, and certainly not by Merlin's."

"After all that he has done?"

Balinor did not say anything, but hunched his shoulders under her sustained glare.

Nimueh almost threw her hands up in the air. "You are a pacifist, Balinor. Like all of your people you would do nothing and see yourselves killed rather than take up arms."

"It is not in our nature to cause harm." He returned, voice shaky as he fought to keep his tone level. "We protect our own. It is not our way to seek a fight. Merlin is the same. To force him would be cruel and against his very nature."

"And what a noble nature yours is, that you would deliver your soul bond into imprisonment at the hands of your enemy, just so that you would not have to take up arms."

Balinor shot to his feet, slamming his hands down on the table with a force that all three of the mugs spilt some of their contents. "You know nothing!" he barked, shaking off the calming hand Hunith placed on his arm.

"I know that you were done wrong, and that you will not stand up and make it right!" Nimueh fired back, a scowl on her face. "Kilgarrah sits rotting in the caves beneath Camelot while Uther still hunts for you. What if he finds you, Balinor? What then?"

"He will not."

"And if he does? You know that this village will be no protection. He would raze the place to get to you. The murder of innocents is no obstacle to him. You tell me that you would not fight, should he come? You would see your wife hanged? Your children drowned as you watch from the stake?"

His breath shuddered, but he did not say anything. Nimueh noted the clench of his jaw, knew him well enough to see that he was angry. She seized upon it.

"You would stand there and allow your _friend_ to kill them and everyone here, because it is your nature?"

"Uther Pendragon is no friend of mine."

"And yet he was. You and I both knew him as a friend. We both pledged ourselves in service to his Kingdom."

"That man is long dead."

"If you truly believed that then you would not hesitate to see the monster that now wears his face dead also." She shook her head at him, glad to see how her disappointment stung him. "You are too sentimental for your own good, Balinor."

"I would not prevent his death, be sure," he murmured in return, grounding his eyes squarely on the table beside his curled fingers, "but I would not have a hand in it."

"And yet it may be your son's destiny to see to it."

Balinor shook his head hard. "I do not believe that."

"Allow me to train him, and we shall see."

"Under your guidance Merlin most certainly would become a weapon. You would use him purely to enact revenge."

"For our people."

"In a mess of _your_ making."

"How dare you!" Nimueh stood, meeting his eyes across the table in a deadly glare. "You blame me for Uther's war on magic?"

"You knew," Balinor fixed her with a hard look, "you knew what would happen if you gave Uther his wish."

"I did _not_ know that Ygraine would die!"

The pain in her voice was genuine. Balinor acknowledged it. Nimueh had loved Ygraine. They all had. "I believe you. However, you did know that there would be a price. To create a life, one must be taken. You knew this."

Nimueh looked away, but did not answer. Balinor did not drop his stare. "Uther knew it also. We all did."

"You cannot blame me for the purge." Nimueh fought back weakly. "It is of Uther's doing."

"We are all to blame in some capacity," Balinor acknowledged, a crack to his voice as his stare faltered. Hunith closed her hand over his on the tabletop. He swallowed, "we all wished to see Camelot strong. The future provided for. Uther and Ygraine contented."

"They were our friends." Nimueh blinked, fearful of the tears cloying about her lashes breaking free. She looked up at Balinor across the table, "you are not to blame."

"Am I not? We all played a part. You, Gaius, myself. We all knew that a life would be demanded. Gaius and I voiced warnings, to you and to Uther. I am guilty of not voicing them loud enough."

Nimueh clasped her hands on the tabletop, and leant on them, feeling suddenly drained. She felt guilt stirring in her own belly. To be faced with someone who knew all that had transpired, and to be faced with her own part in the horror. She could not deny it. "I did know the price. As did Uther. We did not think for even a moment that it would be Ygraine that would pay."

"Because that of a citizen outside of our immediate circle would have been worthless?"

"That was your objection at the time," she recalled, unable to help the flare of fond feeling for the man opposite her, "that no life was worth more, or less than another."

"I believe that still."

All of the fight left Nimueh. She sank onto the bench, and found herself staring blankly at the scratched and weathered tabletop before her. "I should have foreseen Uther's rage, should something have gone wrong."

Hunith managed a weak smile, reaching out across the table to take Nimueh's hand as she held Balinor's, her husband taking his seat beside her with a look of defeat. "How could you have foreseen it? Uther was such a kind man."

The High Priestess gave a warm, heartfelt smile, and closed her hand over Hunith's atop her own. "You did always see only the good in people, Hunith."

"What he has done, he has done out of grief, and arrogance," Balinor told her. "He cannot accept blame for his own part in Ygraine's death, so places it on others."

"So many of our people should suffer for _his_ grief?"

Balinor shook his head. "Uther has committed many acts of evil. There is no pardon for them."

"Yet you would not take his life, should the opportunity arise?"

"I would not."

"Then you are a fool." Nimueh looked away from him in disgust. Balinor was unperturbed.

"I regard myself as different to Uther," he told her levelly. "To take revenge would make me no better than him."

The High Priestess snapped round to look at him, her lip curling in outrage. "You dare call me no better than Uther?"

"If it is revenge you seek, then yes. And Merlin shall not be your tool."

"How dare you!" She slammed a fist down on the table, disregarding Hunith's hurried effort to prevent another spillage, "I will not listen to such an insult from one would not even stand up for his dragon. Is there nothing that will make you fight?"

"Try to take my son and you will see..."

The two of them rose slightly from their seats once again, the crackle of magic in the air as they stared one another down, a deep growl rumbling in Balinor's throat raising the hairs on the back of Hunith's neck. Irritated, she grabbed Balinor by the arm and pulled him back down to sit.

"Stop it!" She snapped. "Both of you!"

Priestess and Dragonlord blinked at her in surprise. She continued, annoyed, "the pair of you are behaving like children! What good would it do to come to blows and destroy each other? Where would that leave Merlin? I can raise him, but I know nothing about magic. Where would the hope of Albion be then? All because the two of you insist on bickering over the past. Nimueh," she fixed the High Priestess with a hard stare, "Balinor is right. To take revenge would make you no better than Uther. Vengeance is what began the purge in the first place. To react with more vengeance would do no good. It never can.

"As for Merlin, he will stay here with us. You are welcome to visit him, but if I catch you trying to turn him against _anyone_ then so help me I will turn you out of my house so fast your head will spin. Am I clear?"

Nimueh did not answer. She simply blinked a moment, astonished. Did this woman not know who she was speaking to? Of course she did, and it did not matter a jot. Hunith was not afraid of her, and would question her just as Gaius always had.

Hunith turned to her husband and hit him a hard slap across his chest, "You, grow up, calm down! Merlin is under no threat. We are having a discussion. That is all."

Balinor stared at her a moment in awe, quietly flushing red. Hunith pressed her lips into a thin line, and shook her head slowly with a vicious glare. Balinor looked away, but still looked more than a little flustered.

Hunith took a deep breath, and returned her attention to Nimueh. "Now, where were we?"

The High Priestess took a moment to compose herself, both to banish the shock of having been told off by Hunith of all people, and to prevent herself from crowing with laughter at the embarrassment on Balinor's face. She made a conscious effort to turn her mind back to Merlin. "Balinor is a talented magic user, but he cannot teach Merlin what he needs. It is my duty as a Priestess to teach him."

"As Balinor has said, he does not need to be taught. Magic comes naturally to him. What he needs is guidance."

"Which can be provided on the Isle of the Blessed."

Hunith shook her head good-naturedly. "You cannot provide all that Merlin needs, Nimueh. Either in guidance, or in training."

Nimueh looked affronted. "What do you mean by that?"

"He is not only a warlock, my Lady," Hunith reminded her gently, not meaning to offend. "Merlin is also a fledgling Dragonlord. More than that, he is a young boy. Soon he will start becoming a man. Both of these things he will be better off with his father's guidance. To teach him of his heritage, and in helping him to decide what kind of man he wishes to be. Tell me also – assure me that you would love him as we do? That he would be able to rely upon you for that. While one day he will be grown, he is at present only a child, and requires love and reassurance in order to grow and flourish. More than anything, I want my son to be happy. Without those things, he will not be."

For a long moment, Nimueh regarded Hunith and Balinor. She noted the way they held one another's hands on the tabletop. Hunith did not look worried, while Balinor clutched her fingers so hard his own turned white, his jaw working so much he appeared just short of chewing through from the inside of his bottom lip.

As little time as she'd had to observe Merlin, Nimueh had taken note of what she could. The way in which he had greeted his father and clung to his mother made it very clear that he was a part of what she saw in front of her now. What Hunith had said was true. All that she knew of Dragonlords she had learned through her friendship with Balinor, and study of ancient texts written by those who were not of the Dragonlords themselves. Balinor's people did not write their history down as others did. She knew nothing either of the needs of children. Her own needs as a child had been addressed differently to those in the villages of Camelot as she had been raised on the Isle from an infant. Merlin's life there would be very similar to the way hers had been: a life of study and dedication to magic above all else with little time allotted to play. It was with a start that she realised that the first she herself had known of real play had come after her move to Camelot. When Balinor, and then Uther befriended her.

She glanced at Balinor and Hunith, and felt a pang. She could lie. Reassure them that she would love Merlin as her own son. She doubted that she would be able to fool Hunith. She was damn certain that she would not be able to fool Balinor. Never had she successfully been able to lie to Balinor. Even so, they had no intention of allowing her to take Merlin. Not willingly. To steal him away would not be worth it. To have both Uther Pendragon _and_ the last Dragonlord hunting her till the last of her days was simply abhorrent. Merlin would never be happy, and while that truly was the least of her concerns, what if it made him rebellious? If he truly was Emrys, then she may not have the power to keep him in check.

Hunith had said, however, that if Merlin remained with them she would be welcome to visit. Stealing him away would make her the enemy, but to become a welcome visitor would make her his friend...

She glanced at Balinor, and felt her resolve soften. It would be good, after so long alone, to have a friend once more.

She had not come with the intention of taking Merlin back with her at all. She had most certainly not come with the intention of turning perhaps the last person who did not hate her guts against her. With an internal sigh, she realised that she should concede defeat.

"I cannot promise you these things."

Hunith nodded once, firmly. "Then I could not possibly let my baby go with you."

By the look on his face, Balinor wholeheartedly agreed.

Nimueh did not press the issue further.

Emrys would grow up in obscurity in this village in the middle of nowhere, then? A simple peasant boy with little to his name. Destiny was a strange thing. As the Goddess had seen fit to give Emrys to Hunith and Balinor to raise, so had she seen fit to make Arthur Pendragon the Once and Future King. In time, no doubt the two boys would meet. It had been foretold, after all. When they did, the golden age of Albion would be set in motion. Until then, however...

"Thank you for your hospitality, Hunith, Balinor." She turned her gaze on the Dragonlord, who huffed and crossed his jaw, chewing at his cheek in that ridiculous universal show of displeasure of his*.

"You're a pain in the arse, Nimueh," he told her flatly, not able to look at her.

"I adore you, too, Balinor." Perhaps for now the Druid was right. She should turn her focus from vengeance and avoid the dark path that led only to sorrow, and allow herself to hope. The Druids believed Merlin to be Emrys, as did his parents. Perhaps it was time to let go of her hate and allow herself to properly mourn the dead? The past could not be changed, but the future lay ahead, uncharted. With so few of her kind remaining, perhaps it was time to enjoy the company of friends long thought lost?

Hunith was oblivious to her thoughts as she and Balinor appeared to communicate in some form of silent exchange, though no magic appeared to be involved, before Hunith rose and crossed to the door of the small house. As she went, Balinor fixed Nimueh with a hard stare.

"I want you to promise me,"

"I want doesn't get."

He repeated himself, irritated, "I want you to promise me that if Merlin shows you what he can do – something small, nothing else – you will leave him be."

"What of visiting him, as Hunith said?"

Balinor squeezed his eyes shut a moment, fighting to keep his composure. "As Hunith has said. You will not however, in any way interfere with him. Do you understand? You will let him alone to live his life as he chooses. Is that clear to you?"

The High Priestess inclined her head. "Perfectly clear, my Lord."

He did not appear entirely convinced. Nimueh did not find herself surprised. She had once seen Balinor's own father turn his dragon loose upon those who had threatened his son. Should such overprotectiveness not already be in Balinor's nature, then she knew that he would have taken his cues from a very dedicated role model.

His stare unnerved her, so she turned her attention on Hunith where the woman stood in the doorway calling her son to her.

Merlin defied all expectations of a powerful sorcerer. As before, should she have been looking for Emrys in this place by appearances alone she would not have found him. Small and thin, with the unfortunate curse of his father's ridiculous ears, and about as steady on his feet as the last of the majestic Dragonlords, he appeared more strange than special. Quite what she had been expecting, she was not sure of herself. She did know for certain that this little boy was not it. The way in which he immediately took his mother's hand, and gestured for her to bend low that he could whisper in her ear showed him as far more timid than one would expect of a child his age, let alone the most powerful warlock ever.

His whisper was more of a hushed question, and as such Nimueh caught it.

"Am I going away?" His high voice quaked.

Hunith drew her son into a fierce embrace, shaking her head hard. "No, my love. No," she assured him, the child clinging to her for dear life. "Lady Nimueh is not here to take you away. She has only come to meet you."

"Why?"

"Because... because she is a dear friend of your father's. They knew each other back in Camelot. When she heard that he had a son, she wanted to come and meet you, and congratulate him. That is what friends do."

"Oh."

Hunith sat back on her feet, looking Merlin over with what Nimueh could only think was pride, and identified what was perhaps a little of elation in her next words. "She wanted to meet you because of your magic, too."

Merlin turned his head to stare at Nimueh with wide eyes, his expression fearful. She forced what she hoped was a reassuring smile in return. Hunith went on, holding her palm to his cheek to turn his attention back to herself,

"When she and your father lived in Camelot, she held the position of Sorceress to the Court. She looked after all the people with magic in the Kingdom. She is also a High Priestess. You know about them."

Merlin nodded. He must have been educated by his parents, Nimueh supposed.

Hunith smiled, and nodded her head gently. "So you see why she wanted to meet you?"

"Because my magic is special."

"That's right, love."

Merlin glanced at Nimueh again, most of the fear having fled his face, though he did not smile. Nimueh wondered perhaps if there was something about her he did not like. Had he somehow sensed her intentions, despite his not being in the house? Inwardly, she shook her head at herself. That notion was foolish. He was only a child.

"She would very much like for you to show her your magic," Hunith told Merlin gently, "if that is alright with you."

The boy studied her face a moment, searching for any sign that she was not serious, before looking to his father.

Balinor nodded, though he still did not look pleased about it. Merlin turned his eyes back on his mother. "Alright."

Hunith murmured 'okay' under her breath, and rose to send him towards Balinor with a gentle push.

Nimueh watched Merlin run to his father to be picked up and sat on his lap at the table, despite being too big, really. The change in Balinor as he wrapped his arms around his son was immediate, his prickly demeanour falling away to leave a softness and warmth that went far beyond his usual manner.

"Do you want to do this?" He asked his son in a low tone, brows drawn together in uncertainty.

Merlin looked at Nimueh, still appearing a little unsure himself, but nodded nonetheless.

Balinor did not look completely happy, his jaw working a moment, but conceded. "Something small, alright, boy?"

Merlin nodded, and turned his head to stare at the table and gnaw on his fingernail.

Nimueh felt a smile tug at her lips. Was the little warlock shy?

"Hunith." Balinor directed her towards a candle sitting in a painted clay holder on the nearby bookshelf. Hunith fetched it and placed it on the table before Merlin, and took her own seat once more.

The tension in the air was almost unbearable. Nimueh forced herself to be patient, and not push Merlin. He appeared nervous, having an audience, and took his time. She would have to sit still and appreciate that, however much the anticipation was killing her. How foolish, for a High Priestess to be so much on the edge of her seat, waiting for a child to perform magic. When his blue eyes flashed gold, she was not disappointed.

* * *

She did never forget that first sense of awe that came from feeling Emrys' magic as he lit a candle with only a thought, or the wonder that held her as that same candle's flame rose from the wick, shaped itself into a dragon and roared, all on the whim of a small boy.

As much as she had told Hunith otherwise, she surprised even herself with the affection Merlin inspired in her as her visits passed and he came to know her as his aunt Nimueh. He was truly a special boy, befriending all he met and always ready with that bright grin of his. Her time in Ealdor itself always felt like a blessing, the days she spent tending the hens with Hunith and practising magic with Balinor almost like the carefree days of her youth in Camelot.

And then Prince Arthur re-entered her life.

When the Lady Morgana came to her on the Isle, pleading for a way to save him from the bite of the questing beast, it was almost too good to be true. She knew very well what Morgana would become. Already 'Gorlois' daughter' lived in uncertainty, where the cracks of doubt split her confidence and struck fear into her heart. Nimueh thought that she could use her volatile temperament to her advantage without lifting a finger. Indeed her appearance there would have been too good to be true, should the name Morgana spoke once told the price for Arthur's life have been the one Nimueh had anticipated.

Tauren was a small time thug who lusted after treasure, and squandered his own gift in the pursuit of it. To exchange his life for Arthur's was rather satisfying. As for Uther's life...

Meeting Arthur for the first time as she visited the Valley of the Fallen Kings was a new day in many ways. Oh, he was arrogant as his father, and what Merlin would describe as a 'prat', but the good qualities he possessed were plain to see where they tried to hide just beneath the surface. He was very much the other side of Merlin's coin. She saw it as no hardship to offer her assistance, or to watch after his safety now and again. That boy truly had a way of attracting trouble. Yet seeing his tentative acceptance of magic grow, despite Uther's teachings, was more than reward enough.

At least to begin with.

Arthur was not yet ready to assume the throne. Not without Emrys at his side. But Merlin had yet to leave Ealdor.

Hunith and Balinor's fledgeling showed no sign of flying the nest for his destiny in Camelot, and why would he? Destiny had yet to call, and in a haven so idyllic as Ealdor, surrounded by friends and family, why should he?

Nimueh could be patient. She prided herself on playing the long game. While she doled out guidance and advice to the young Prince each time he came reluctantly searching for it at her font, and as much affection as she bore the boy, her considerable patience was at last wearing thin waiting for destiny's call.

She had been called arrogant, that first time she visited Ealdor in search of hope, and as much as she may refute it, there was no denying that it counted as one of her failings. Whatever the Goddess' plan, surely it could be brought to fruition a little more quickly?

Destiny was a funny thing, she recognised. Even as she hefted the stolen sword of a fallen Knight of Medhir in her hands. That a fellow Priestess should provide her with this opportunity even as Arthur cultivated the first and greatest enemy of his Camelot. The golden eyes watching her from above spoke of many things, vengeance and destruction included. She knew that there would be a price for meddling, but her considerable patience had finally run out. As great a plan as the Goddess may have, sometimes – just sometimes – destiny could do with a helping hand...

* * *

Τέλος

* * *

* Personal Headcanon. She was entrusted with such an important relic as the horn of Cathbadh, after all.

* In one of the deleted scenes from series 4 Morgause recalls the Isle before it was attacked to Morgana, and describes the beautiful hallways as teeming with women. Again headcanon where only women were permitted on the Isle except for rare instances where high-ranking Catha Priests were allowed to join feasts during festivals and such.

* Link to 'Peed off Balinor' video on my profile. I bloody love John Lynch's facial expressions XD

I always thought that Nimueh didn't mean to kill Ygraine. I sort of imagine her as incredibly arrogant in her youth, and over confident in her magic and abilities, and having performed the spell for Uther without a full grasp and understanding of the magic required, or just thinking that she was above it, and Ygraine ending up as collateral damage. I find it all the more sad that way :( I wondered if her path would change at all with intervention early on the same as Balinor's did during this story...

That's a wrap. I'm sorry it's late. It's not been the best two weeks, and no matter how I looked at this I felt it needed more polish. Excuses aside, thank you all so much for staying with this and hope the bonus chapters were enjoyable and answered some questions here and there :) The encouragement and feedback I've had writing this have been absolutely wonderful. I can't thank you guys enough! XXX Thank you!

See you around!


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